Unforgotten
by Janiqua
Summary: After an old friend is forced into the reality Nero inadvertently created, Spock Prime finds his unspeakable loneliness beginning to quell. Spock/McCoy friendship.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **So I wanted to try my hand at a Star Trek fanfic. I'm relatively new to the Trekkie world, I mean, my mom and my brother both love the show, and I grew up watching bits and pieces of Next Generation, but I never really got into it until I watched the 2009 movie. I guess, if the new movie is meant to rejuvenate the show, it worked, at least as far as I'm concerned. For the past few weeks, I've been trying to catch up on the Original Series, and I've become a diehard Spock/McCoy supporter, though, as always, more of a friendship supporter than a slash supporter… or whatever. Anyway, here goes!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the series, and like I said, I'm new to Star Trek, so I don't have every little fact and detail fixed in my head. I'm hardly an expert. Therefore, all I can offer is some fanfiction, hoping to provide entertainment, 'cause that's all I can do. Please enjoy!

**Setting: **This story takes place during two different timelines, one sometime after "The Final Frontier," and the other sometime after "Star Trek 2009."

**Teaser: **Spock Prime's unspeakable loneliness may soon be quelled. Please review!

**ooooooo**

It was darker than space aboard the ship, even with the explosions. Sparks flared dangerously in every direction as she lurched and nearly crumbled apart. Engineers ran up and down the corridors, knowing _Gypsy_ like the back of their hands, struggling desperately to hold her together. Outside, an ominous alien battleship fired torpedoes at its much weaker victim. They didn't stand the slightest chance, and Anna's only comfort was that the crew might be spared. The battleship would not annihilate _Gypsy _until the Exiles had what they wanted. At least, that's what Anna told herself.

She sat pressed up against an abandoned console in the ship's engine room, cringing in terror. People shouted, equipment collapsed, generators ignited, and everything continued shaking, worse than an earthquake. If _Gypsy _did fall apart, they would all be sucked out into a lifeless vacuum, no hope of survival. And it was all Anna's fault. The Exiles were looking for her.

"Anna!"

Riley's voice reverberated through the explosions. At the sound of it, Anna looked up sharply. Everything was dark, pitch black, but she could sense someone's looming presence, and instantly knew who it was. Stumbling, Riley scrambled over to her, his outstretched arms eager to find her. She dove into them, tears pouring down her face.

"You have to go. There are Exiles beaming onto every level of the ship. You don't have much time."

"We go together," Anna insisted, clinging stubbornly to her loved one. "I can't do this alone." They had been on the run for so long; Anna depended on him, and could not imagine life without him. The thought terrified her more than the Exiles.

"This day had to come," Riley gently reminded her. They were children of the Kin, and lacked the endurance of the Exiles. If they had chosen to stay on their home world, they could have been protected, but they would never have been permitted a relationship of any sort. Anna would have been locked up, studied, and possibly forced to breed, but not with someone as unimportant as Riley. So, for the sake of their freedom, they decided to run, and were now hunted by Kin and Exiles alike. No matter how hard they tried, they simply didn't have the strength or the resources to run forever, and though they always knew this, they also believed a few short years of freedom surpassed no freedom at all. It was better to spend what time they could together, and have it end like this, than to have accepted separation from the start. Better to have loved and lost…

"I don't regret a moment of it," Riley assured her, pushing back and looking at her face. He brushed her hair behind her ears. "I will share my remaining endurance so you have enough to escape. After that, you _must _keep running. Promise me you'll keep running. I can handle whatever the Exiles do to me as long as I know they don't have their hands on you."

"I promise," Anna lied. Her confidence abandoned her; without Riley, she doubted she could run anywhere. Her duty to the Kin obligated her to prevent the Exiles from attaining her powers, but in all probability, she wouldn't be able to outrun them. In all probability, she would have to die… but she couldn't tell Riley! She didn't have the heart, and so she wept. Once opened, Pandora's Box could not easily be closed, and now she had to suffer the ultimate consequence.

"I love you," Riley said. Anna nodded, too choked to speak. The ship had stopped rocking, which meant _Gypsy_ could no longer threaten the Exiles. They were onboard now, searching for the young couple. Riley was right; she had very little time. No time.

Suddenly, Riley kissed her. She drank it in, savoring it, wishing it would last forever. If only…

As they pressed against each other, Riley surrendered the endurance allowing him to jump from one reality to another, or from one point in time to another. Their species, Hinternolians, had always been time and interdimensional travelers, but the jump took tremendous effort, and afterwards, recuperation was always required. While on the run, the necessary endurance had been in short supply, and now, they were all but out of energy. If Anna could not escape with what Riley provided her, it would all be over.

"Don't leave me," Anna pleaded one last time when Riley finally drew back.

"Don't forget me," he countered. Footsteps pounded in the distance, and Anna could not delude herself by hoping they belonged to _Gypsy _engineers. Riley grabbed his phaser, squeezed her hand, and faced their advancing antagonists. When the Exiles appeared in the engine room, he charged towards them, and the battle began.

Anna covered her mouth, determined not to scream. Backing away from the skirmish, she closed her eyes, and concentrated on the jump. _I love you, Riley. Please forgive me. _Like a ghost, she faded into nothingness.

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **I know, I know, OC's are not nearly as popular as the actual characters, but when it comes to developing a plot, they usually tend to be somewhat necessary. I hope you don't mind. You'll recognize the characters in the next chapter, I'm sure, so don't stop reading, and please review! Cheers!


	2. Ghosts

**ooooooo**

_She sank deeply into the darkness, descending rapidly into loneliness and anguish. She could not fathom how much time had passed, hours, days, years. An eternity, it seemed. She was finally secure, safe where the Exiles could never find her. No one could find her. On this plane, she had discovered complete isolation. _

_She hated it._

_"Riley!"_

_She could easily imagine what the Exiles were doing to him, demanding he reveal her hiding place, torturing him until he broke. She sobbed, wishing she could save him. No matter how safe she was, none of it meant anything if she had to spend the rest of her life without him. She wouldn't stay here. It was time for her to ascend back up to the plane above._

_She couldn't move. With a start, she realized she couldn't move. She had used up all her endurance jumping down here, and now she was too weak to return._

_The density of the darkness intensified, and for one terrible moment, she feared she would suffocate. She hated the lower planes, but she didn't have the power to rise to the higher ones. Not anymore. To escape the Exiles, to find sanctuary in a realm where they could not follow, she had no choice but to descend, and now she would be trapped down here until she replenished her strength. It wasn't fair!_

_"Riley!"_

_She had to escape. She had to rise in any way possible. Squeezing her eyes shut, she resorted on the first skill her mother taught her after walking. Her family had always been exceptionally talented in different fields, a fact setting them apart from most Hinternolians, whether Kin or Exile. They could easily accomplish things that ordinarily took fifty years of training to master. Such as astral projection._

_"Someone… Anyone… help me…"_

**ooooooo**

**Setting: **Original Timeline, after The Final Frontier

Suspended lifelessly in the vacuum of space, _Gypsy _had the look of an ancient, underwater shipwreck. Lopsided, burnt, desolate, and deserted, her days of glory were undoubtedly over. Dr. Leonard McCoy could only hope to find survivors onboard, though Spock had warned both him and Captain James T. Kirk not to expect much. _Enterprise _had been summoned for the rescue and or salvage operation hours ago, and since then, McCoy had gathered his medkit and tricorder, along with every other essential supply, eager to get this show on the road.

"Life support systems appear intact," Spock presently informed the captain, sitting at ease in the chair by his station. "I am not detecting any definite life signs, but the scan is operating at sixty-four percent due to interference from the debris. It is possible, if not probable, that survivors remain onboard the ship."

"Good enough for me," McCoy assured Jim, who nodded.

"Scotty," he said, after activating the intercom on his command chair. "Prepare a boarding party. Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, and I will arrive in the transporter room momentarily."

"Aye, captain."

"Mr. Sulu," Jim said, immediately catching the helmsman's attention as he stood. "You have the conn." Without waiting for a response, the satisfied captain headed for the turbolift, McCoy and Spock at his heels.

It did not take long to reach the transporter room, nor to beam over to _Gypsy_. Together with a small search party, they immediately began scanning the corridors for both survivors and equipment worth salvaging. After ordering the group to keep their communicators handy, Jim took off for the bridge, where he might discover more information from the captain's log. Spock accompanied him, and once the search party dispersed, McCoy found himself more or less alone.

Damage to the ship was severe, and within minutes McCoy stumbled upon evidence of close combat. Bits of equipment, the walls, the doors, everything really, had the distinct burn marks of a phaser. Several corpses were found with injuries they couldn't have received from either debris or life support failure, such as slit throats. Traces of blood stained the floors and walls even where bodies were not to be seen. Though McCoy was loath to admit it, the logical conclusion was whoever attacked _Gypsy_ had beamed aboard to personally slaughter the crew.

Disgusted and bitter, McCoy found himself once again craving justice. No matter how old he was, or how disillusioned with life, the horror and indignation he felt in these situations would never change, and he anticipated catching up with the bastards responsible for this. He wanted them to pay, to get exactly what they deserved.

"Damn it," McCoy swore as he ventured deeper into the ship. The nagging fear that Spock had been right, that no one had survived, was starting to get to him. Surely there was someone…? At least one?

He came to the engine room, where the sliding doors had been propped open, and carefully stepped inside, avoiding the rubble. Judging from the amount of wreckage here compared to elsewhere, McCoy would guess the battle culminated at this spot. He glanced down at his scanner, but the readings were, oddly enough, somewhat static. Banging on it to no effect, McCoy glanced uncertainly around the room. People could easily be buried under some of that rubble, trapped, but thankfully alive.

"Can anyone hear me?" McCoy called out, taking a step farther into the room. "This is Dr. McCoy of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_. If you can hear me, I'm going to get you out of here, but you've got to make some noise and let me know where you are." For a moment, at the back of the room, he thought he could detect movement. Perhaps it was his old eyes playing tricks on him, but nevertheless his heart skipped a beat and he picked up his pace, hastening forward eagerly. "It's all right! You don't have to be afraid!"

Through the shadows, he spotted a young woman in her early twenties. She was ghostly pale, almost ethereal, and from what he could tell, delicate and sickly. She had dark blue hair, long and tangled, with nothing holding it out of her face. Her thin, sleeveless dress matched her hair, and as she approached him, he realized she was barefoot. In all honesty, the sight of her astonished him. He didn't know why, but he couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe, as if she had stolen all the air from his lungs.

"That's it," he finally managed, noting with some uneasiness how silently she crept, without disturbing the obstacles in her path, as if she passed right through them. Maybe it was the lighting? Or maybe he was just getting too old for this… "That's it," he repeated somewhat lamely, reaching out a hand to help her over the remaining rubble. She hesitated, glancing down at it uncertainly, not that he blamed her. She looked haunted, traumatized, which wasn't surprising considering she had survived an intense battle against an unknown enemy, only to be left alone for god knew how long, trapped aboard a crippled ship, with only corpses for company. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

"It's okay," McCoy assured her, speaking gently. "You're safe now. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." Her gaze shifted from his hand to his face, and he observed how blue, how crystalline her eyes were. Though humanoid, she certainly wasn't human.

"Bones! You down there?"

Jim's voice startled McCoy, and he quickly turned his head. "Right in here, Jim! And I've got a young woman with me!" Hoping the captain hadn't alarmed her, McCoy looked back at the girl with an encouraging smile, only to find himself staring not at a solid, physical body, but rather at a curtain of silvery blue vapors taking the shape of the girl who had been standing there a second ago. Before he had a chance to react, the vapors swept towards him, against him, and then through him. It felt shockingly cold, like icy wind, and McCoy gasped, spinning around, hoping to watch the vapors retreating down the corridor. But they were gone, having disappeared without a trace. McCoy shivered, his joints suddenly aching, and for what felt like hours, he didn't move or speak a word, too confused to figure out what the hell had happened. Maybe if Spock had been here…

"I think I just saw a ghost," McCoy said at last, glancing at Jim as he appeared through the threshold of the engine room. Jim paused and cocked his head ever so slightly, no doubt debating internally whether or not his chief medical officer had cracked a joke. Obviously this wasn't the time or the place, and when Jim scanned the rest of the room, unable to find the young woman McCoy had mentioned, he ruled out the possibility of jokes and frowned, concern etched in his face.

"Bones," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "In these particular environments, it's not unusual for a man's imagination to…" He trailed off when McCoy rolled his eyes.

"If anyone needs a psychology lesson, it's sure as hell not me, Jim!" McCoy was too old, too experienced, to allow the environment, chilling and nightmarish as it was, to spook him into seeing things. Something else was going on here, but if he tried convincing Jim of that, people would start questioning his sanity. Still, they had dealt with stranger things in the past, hadn't they? He couldn't stop picturing the haunted expression on the girl's face, the anguish in her crystalline eyes. It was, to say the least, eerie. "Look, there's something interfering with my scanner. Any number of survivors might be buried alive down here, unconscious, paralyzed, unable to make noise, and I can't detect them. Do me a favor and call Spock down here, get him to see if there are any unusual readings on his tricorder that might explain what's interfering with mine. Maybe we'll find something we've never encountered before. If not…" He shrugged, deciding to put all this behind him, to forget it ever happened, if Spock failed to uncover evidence that might "logically" support theories of a mysterious, otherworldly, presence.

Jim hesitated, uncertain, but then again, he happened to be a very curious man, and McCoy knew they trusted each other. He activated his communicator. "Mr. Spock, report to the engine room."

**ooooooo**

_The first time she had seen an Exile, she and Riley had been hiding in a majestic city several solar systems and one dimension away from their home world, early in the twenty-fifth century. They had outrun the Kin, but never in their wildest dreams had they expected to catch Exile attention. They shouldn't even know her name! Unless… unless they had spies among the Kin… _

_The invasion was typical for Exiles, sudden, rapid, and recklessly bold. No one on the planet saw it coming, and they weren't prepared to defend themselves. They were harmless, innocent people, while the Exiles were no better than pirates, descending upon their latest victims to kill, destroy, and plunder. This time they were searching for her, a fact she realized when they cornered her in the market, taunting her maliciously as they set their phasers to stun._

_There had been four of them. She recognized them as Hinternolians by their blue buzz haircuts, crystalline blue eyes, and smell. Hinternolians had always been able to smell more proficiently than other humanoids. She recognized them as Exiles by the frightening tattoos covering their faces, and by their clothes. Exiles wore long black leather coats with heavy metal shoulder pads. Tall, powerful, and cruel, they stalked towards her with hungry expressions, assuring her they wanted to do more than study her._

_But back then, Anna had not yet exhausted her endurance. Back then, she had the strength and speed to evade their phasers with the grace of a dancer. When they tried tackling her, she slipped through their fingers. Sometimes being small had its advantages. She slithered through tight places where they couldn't follow, and ducked out of sight like a clever mouse. When the citizens began evacuating the planet, getting out of the way for the military forces that were moving in to deal with the Exiles, Anna met up with Riley, and the two stowed away on a passenger ship, all too eager to depart._

_As they sat in a dark storage room, huddling together, whispering words of comfort and reassurance, Anna suddenly glanced up at the ceiling, as if she saw someone hovering above her. Her crystal eyes penetrated the darkness, and forgetting Riley, she partially stood. "I need your help, Dr. McCoy. You promised you wouldn't let anyone hurt me. Please… help me…"_

McCoy jerked awake, sweating and shivering. It took him a moment to reorient himself, and then he recognized his private quarters aboard _Enterprise_. The salvage operation on _Gypsy_ had ended hours ago; there wasn't anyone left alive to rescue. Spock hadn't detected the presence of anything down in the engine room, and as far as anyone could tell, McCoy had encountered nothing more than shadows. Though concerned, Spock didn't express much surprise. Said something about it being natural for illogical humans to get carried away in situations where emotions ran high. He and Jim both agreed that McCoy should return to _Enterprise _and get some sleep, which he did only after serving himself a large drink.

_And now I'm having nightmares about that girl._ "Damn…"

McCoy sat up in bed and felt the onset of a headache. What the hell was going on? Something about it just didn't feel right. It wasn't an ordinary dream, and it wasn't a hangover, and unless he had fallen sick or gone crazy in the last twenty-four hours, it wasn't delirium. Somehow… it just seemed so damn real.

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **I wanted to make this chapter longer so I could get to Spock Prime faster, but then I decided not to rush it. I've still got plenty of summer left, and ample time to write… hopefully… Anyway, let me know what you think so far. I'm dying for reviews! Dying!


	3. Exile Ambush

**ooooooo**

When the nightmares refused to desist over the next few days, McCoy's concern doubled, and then tripled. Sneaking into sickbay, chasing away whoever was on duty, he began giving himself thorough examinations, but to no end. Medically, nothing was wrong with him. After awhile, he had no choice but to accept the girl from his dreams, the girl from _Gypsy_, was somehow a very real entity, and perhaps she was trying to contact him. It didn't make any sense, but then again, McCoy would be damned before he agreed with Spock that sense and logic were the only tolerable answers.

In his dreams, he would witness events from the girl's life. Moments shared desperately between her and her beloved, moments ultimately interrupted by the Exiles, who never ceased their chase. In the midst of these flashbacks, time itself would suddenly stand still, and the girl would turn her blue, crystal eyes upward, where McCoy, silently hovering above, staring down at her, unable to interfere. Every night she said something different, asking for help, but without much elaboration. She could never manage to get out more than two or three sentences before McCoy jerked awake.

He thought about telling Jim, especially when the lack of sound sleep finally got to him. He thought about asking Spock to peer inside his head and dig out answers, convinced they could help the girl, if only they knew how. He approached them both on multiple occasions, he could see in their expressions they knew he had something on his mind, and they asked him about it. Apparently he hadn't been acting like himself lately.

"Bones," Jim said as they sat together with Spock in the rec room. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. You're distracted, and I want to know why." Spock turned and regarded McCoy with a raised eyebrow, indicating his concordance with the captain. It would have been so easy to spill his guts then and there, to describe his nightmares, the girl, and how she had been haunting him since they salvaged _Gypsy_. He had no doubt his friends would take him seriously, he had no reason to hide anything.

"Jim," McCoy began, and opened his mouth to continue, only to stop short. He didn't know what it was… Fear, paranoia, an unpleasant smell, the nagging sense that something terrible would happen at any given minute… "I don't know, Jim. I keep thinking about _Gypsy_." No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't force himself to reveal anything more. He approached it several different ways, met with no success, and eventually gave up, shrugging his shoulders while swearing in frustration.

"The Federation remains adamant about discovering the identity of _Gypsy's _attackers," Spock assured McCoy. "Eventually, we will determine who they were, and if possible, they will answer for their crimes. But you must understand, doctor, there was nothing more you could have done for _Gypsy's _crew, nor is there anything you can do at this time to assist in the investigation. Since it is out of your hands, it is inadvisable for you to continue troubling yourself over the matter."

For once in his life, Spock was completely and utterly wrong. Nothing was out of McCoy's hands, and if he stopped worrying about it, if he stopped caring, Anna would be the one who paid for it. Anna. That was her name, and the more McCoy thought about it, the more he dwelled on it, the more urgent her situation became. She must have been around his own daughter's age, maybe even younger, and before he knew what had happened, he had grown protective of her.

_I can't do this alone, _he told himself miserably, staring at his bed late that night. Restless, but exhausted, confused, but resolved, he could no more bring himself to lie down than he could speak his mind to Jim and Spock. "I'll have you know, they're good people. Trustworthy. Dependable. If you really want my help, you need to accept theirs. They can do more for you than I can."

"I know." Glancing around, McCoy found himself staring directly at Anna. She was standing by the door, insubstantial, nearly transparent. It was only the second time she had appeared to him outside his dreams, the first being onboard _Gypsy_. "But I also know _they're_ close. They're still in your dimension, waiting for me to try rescuing Riley. If you explain this to Captain Kirk, trustworthy though he is, he might wonder why the Exiles are hunting me down, and I cannot risk him learning the truth about me. Your people will want to study me, too. Just like mine. And then I'll never see Riley again."

"You don't know Jim," McCoy protested. "God knows we've pissed off Starfleet on numerous occasions, doing what we think is right. We can protect you, Anna. But you've got to meet us halfway. Let me talk to them." She shook her head, fading quickly from sight. McCoy sighed, bent over his table, and rested his face in his arms. He didn't have the slightest idea how to help Anna. What did she want from him? What did she think he could do? What was she waiting for?

Several hours later, no doubt early in the morning, McCoy remained in that same position. He looked up only when he heard a knock on the door, and turned to watch Jim entering his quarters. The man's look of concern had not wavered since the previous evening, especially when he saw McCoy sitting in a chair, rather than in bed, and still wearing his red service jacket. "My god, Bones. Haven't you gotten any sleep?"

McCoy tried answering, but once again, the compulsion to keep his mouth shut proved too strong. Until Anna wanted him to ask for help, he wouldn't be explaining anything to anyone. "I just have a lot on my mind, Jim."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I can't."

Jim nodded, as if he had been expecting as much. He walked farther into the room, sat on the foot of McCoy's bed, and leaned forward, deep in thought. At last, he met McCoy's curious gaze. "We're coming up on an outpost scheduled to receive passengers from the civilian liner, _Myra_. Uhura tells me she's destined for Alpha Centauri, and she has room for one." McCoy tried interrupting, but Jim held up a hand and cut him off. "I'm not going to order you to take shore leave, Bones, but it's not everyday we come across a ship heading for Centaurus. It's a good opportunity for you to visit Joanna, and a timely one, considering everything we've been through lately. You deserve it, and it'll be good for you. Maybe she can convince you to share whatever's on your mind, since no one else seems able to."

"Jim-"

"I'm worried about you, Bones. Believe me, I'd much rather have you stay here where I can keep an eye on you, but the chance at getting you on another liner that just so happens to be bound for Alpha Centauri won't come again for a long, long time. At the very least, I had to present the option to you. I want you to consider it. You're distracted, you're not sleeping, and you won't confide in anyone. Take some time off. Relax. Come to terms with whatever's plaguing you. We can rendezvous at Starfleet Headquarters as soon as you're ready. Or, you can talk to me now, and help me understand."

McCoy didn't know how to answer. He couldn't bring up Anna, and though he had no inclination to leave _Enterprise_, he couldn't explain why the hell not. Normally, he jumped at the opportunity to visit his daughter, and it was no secret he preferred land to space. "Damn it, Jim…" He shook his head and averted his eyes, unable to bear the hurt he saw on his best friend's face.

**ooooooo**

It defied logic. McCoy knew he had spent far too much time in Spock's company if he was complaining about that, but there it was. Anna was being illogical for not trusting Jim, and McCoy was being illogical for allowing Jim to stick him on _Myra_. Then again, Jim had been known to talk supercomputers and intelligent robots into blowing themselves up, usually by presenting complicated paradoxes no machine could cope with, again due to illogic, so it really wasn't surprising he could ultimately convince a good old country doctor to take some shore leave.

Well, it wasn't as if Anna had given him very many choices. He couldn't do her any good on Centaurus, where he lacked both his friends' council and his ship's resources, but then again, he couldn't do her any good even on _Enterprise_ if she didn't let him explain her situation, so what damn difference did it make? Either way, he would still be a frustrated, cranky, sleep deprived old man who didn't know what to do about the young woman haunting him.

_Myra _had left the outpost two and a half days ago, and would be arriving in Alpha Centauri within the week. In that time, McCoy had lost much of his appetite; he could only imagine what Jim would have said if he had stopped eating while still aboard _Enterprise_. Maybe it was a good thing he had left after all.

The civilian liner was relatively small, but luxurious, and the other passengers, men, women, and children from various planets, were amiable enough, though McCoy kept to himself. He wore black pants, a light shirt, and a brown leather jacket, hiding the fact he was a Starfleet officer to avoid unnecessary attention. The last thing he needed were crowds of inquisitive people wondering what it felt like exploring the universe aboard the infamous _Enterprise_. He wasn't exactly in a storytelling mood. Instead, he sat glumly in a small booth drinking everyday bourbon, wishing he had a mint julep. Damn bartender couldn't even get the right drink.

Closing his eyes, he searched his soul, if that was the correct word, for traces of Anna. She hadn't appeared to him once since the night before he had been informed of _Myra_. A part of him wondered if she had fled, but that didn't make any sense. She needed help. She was desperate for it. She wouldn't flee now, which left the possibility that she had somehow been hurt, or captured, and it was too late to save her. McCoy didn't want to consider that, but what else could have happened? She had vanished! Maybe appearing to him outside his dreams had been too much for her. Maybe she was just trying to recover her strength. He needed more information; he needed to know what she wanted from him.

Nothing. No reply. McCoy sighed, opened his eyes, and took another drink. For all he knew, there had never been an Anna to begin with, and he really was going to crazy. It sure as hell wouldn't be the first time.

Just as McCoy began contemplating that particular thought, _Myra _hit what felt like heavy turbulence. Bourbon spilled across the table and McCoy jumped to his feet, not wanting it to splash onto his clothes. As the ship reeled, he nearly stumbled to the ground, but managed to catch himself in time. Unfortunately, not everyone in the lounge had his experience, and several of the smaller passengers fell right out of their seats. People began shouting, and some of the children started crying, especially when the ship fell roughly out of warp drive. _Myra's _alarms began blaring, and McCoy realized they were under attack.

"It's all right," McCoy said, turning his attention to a middle-aged woman who had landed hard on the floor. She looked terrified as he helped her to her feet. "Find something stable and brace yourselves." The recommendation was directed not only to the woman, but to everyone in the lounge, and McCoy was pleased to see it obeyed. Meanwhile, he scanned the room, looking for someone in charge. If this had been _Enterprise_, he could have gone straight to the bridge if he wanted to know who was firing at them, but on _Myra_, he didn't have the authority. He was just as clueless as all the other passengers, and he didn't much appreciate the feeling.

"I heard a band of raiders attacked a Starfleet ship just last week!" someone miserably wailed, having reached the same conclusion as McCoy. This sure as hell wasn't turbulence. "They killed everyone onboard! We're supposed to be safe traveling in Federation territory!" McCoy refrained from pointing out that space travel would never, not in a million years, be completely safe. He doubted it would help prevent a panic.

"I don't want to die!" People were sobbing, giving McCoy yet another damn headache. Then again, it could also have been the alarms, or the explosions, or the convulsing ship. None of it was conducive for respite, relaxation, and recovery. McCoy grimaced, cursing Jim for talking him into this. If their attackers really were Hinternolian Exiles, they would be in more danger than they realized, a possibility McCoy couldn't ignore, not since Anna had warned him they remained in this dimension. He refused to believe they were looking for her; they had no reason to suspect anyone aboard _Myra _of even knowing that she existed, much less caring to harbor her. They must have been raiders, at the very least looking to kill and plunder, but if they were Exiles, who knew what other crimes they would also commit in the hours ahead? Damn, he should have stayed on the _Enterprise_.

After what felt like an eternity, the ship stopped shaking and the alarms stopped blaring, but McCoy had a feeling the night was far from over. "Is anyone hurt?" He scanned the room for people who had either suffered bad falls, or had cut themselves on sharp ends of furniture, or were trapped under overturned tables. He was pleased to see men and women already assisting the less fortunate, and hastened to start relieving the worst of the casualties himself. On the bright side, there weren't any fatalities, but he still wished he had his medkit.

Outside the lounge, the sound of phasers resonated malevolently, driving more people to scream and cry. This was a civilian liner; with the exception of a few security officers and McCoy, no one had been trained for an event like this, and fear was contagious. McCoy felt his hands shaking, and it was all he could do to keep a clear head and concentrate. He focused on tending his patient, cleaning the cut with alcohol and bandaging it as best he could without the proper supplies. One slow step at a time. There was only one way out of the lounge, and it led to monsters wielding phasers, so there really wasn't much else he could do.

Inevitably, the doors to the lounge slid open, and everyone inside fell perfectly still, too tense to move, too scared to make a sound, or even to breathe. McCoy, who had by that time moved on to a young girl with a bleeding forehead, and was busy trying to instruct her frantic mother on keeping a piece of cloth pressed against the wound, glanced up irately to examine the intruders. Half a dozen of them had entered the room; they were colossal, over six feet tall, muscular, and broad shouldered. Their faces were covered in tattoos, they had buzz cut blue hair, they dressed in long black leather coats, and their shoulders were padded with silvery metal. Their eyes looked like solid blue crystals. McCoy knew without hesitation that his fears had been founded; they were the Hinternolian Exiles from his nightmares. The bastards responsible for _Gypsy_. The hunters stalking Anna. Kneeling on the floor, holding an injured girl in his arms, McCoy seethed in utter, unbridled hatred.

The Exile at the forefront of the group smiled approvingly at the helpless cluster of civilians. He stepped forward, carelessly twirling the phaser in his hand while counting them one by one. His gaze rested briefly on McCoy, but without much interest. "By now, you are all no doubt wondering who I am, and what I plan on doing to you. If not, you are a bunch of fools. Well, rest assured, I do not have time to stay and properly enjoy myself. This is, after all, Federation territory, and I'm not inclined to deal with whatever reinforcements you may or may not have on route. Therefore, I will only ask once for Dr. Leonard McCoy of the _U.S.S. Enterprise _to surrender himself, at which time I will spare the lives of everyone else aboard this ship. You cannot ask for a better deal."

Shock could not describe the rush, the heat, the terror that swept through McCoy at such an unexpected, frightening statement. It took him awhile to react, and he barely registered the subsequent whispers and searching eyes of the people around him, people who had not realized a Starfleet officer had been in their midst, and who were now desperate to identify him, to single him out and hand him over to the Exiles, not that he could blame them for it. After all, the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, right?

The Exile shook his head, unperturbed but nevertheless in a hurry. "Your loss," he said, and two of his men stepped around him, aiming their phasers at the nearest women and children. They wouldn't risk killing the men, for fear of killing McCoy, and the thought of that, more than anything else, snapped him back into action.

"Wait!" he shouted before the slaughter could begin, quelling the terrified screams of the targeted prisoners. "I'm Leonard McCoy!" As every eye in the room landed squarely on him, he gently placed the injured girl on the floor and rose to his feet. "Now what the hell do you want with me?"

The two thugs silently marched over to him, seized his arms, and roughly manhandled him back to their leader. While they proceeded to cuff his wrists behind his back, the commanding Exile grasped his chin and examined his face a little too closely for comfort. McCoy instinctively tried pulling free, but the Exile had better leverage and, tightening his grip, held his face still. He leaned in long enough to sniff McCoy, and then he grinned, drawing back, but without releasing the doctor's chin. "You are who you claim to be. I can smell her in you."

He must have known McCoy and Anna were connected somehow. Damn. Drawing every ounce of discipline he had acquired through the years, mostly from Jim and Spock, McCoy refused to dignify the Exile with the acknowledgement he doubtlessly expected and desired. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I don't know who the hell you are, and I'm sure I don't know what woman you're talking about. I haven't had the company of one in ages."

The Exile's grin widened; he was evidently amused. "My name is Broase. I am a Hinternolian Exile, and captain of the _Night Stalker_. Seven days ago, you, Dr. McCoy, participated in a salvage operation aboard the _Gypsy_, where I had strategically placed one of my agents. A good man. He carried a device that emitted several conflicting electromagnetic waves, I believe to interfere with your starship's scanning equipment, so no one would detect his presence. His mission was to capture a Hinternolian fugitive, should she resurface from whatever hole she hid herself in. According to his report, you identified yourself down in the engine room, offering shelter to our precious little fugitive, and now you will give her to me."

Memories of that day replayed in McCoy's mind. Spock's scanner had been operating at sixty-four percent, and when McCoy had walked into _Gypsy's_ engine room, his own scanner had gone static. Had some secret Exile agent been responsible for the inefficiencies and malfunctions? The engine room had been turned inside out by rubble and debris, and McCoy had feared people might be buried alive. In such conditions, a man could have easily concealed himself in the shadows. The whole time McCoy had been down there, an Exile had been spying on him, listening to him encouraging a ghost, listening to him confiding in Jim and Spock.

"And you've been following me ever since?"

"We rendezvoused with our agent shortly after _Enterprise _abandoned _Gypsy_," Broase said patiently. "And then we tracked your beautiful ship, at a distance to avoid detection, all the way to the outpost. You know, it's rather easy approaching outposts without arousing suspicion. From there, we gathered more intelligence, and were pleasantly surprised to learn that you, of all people, were taking leave of _Enterprise_ to board this fine vessel. Civilian liners are much easier to run down than Starships. We bided our time, and our fortitude has, at last, been rewarded."

"How nice for you," McCoy grumbled, squirming uncomfortably. He hadn't felt this helpless in a long time. He could barely move his arms, and with this bastard insisting on invading his personal space, his total lack of freedom felt emphasized. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you I'm completely senile, and that whoever your agent thinks I offered shelter to back on the _Gypsy_ was actually nothing more than a figment of my imagination?"

Broase laughed good-naturedly and patted McCoy on the cheek. "Didn't you hear me say I can smell her? I am well aware the girl's physical presence is nowhere in the near vicinity, but it might interest you, Dr. McCoy, to know that she has the capability of astral projection. Whether or not you realize it, she has latched herself onto you, fastening her very essence into yours, and it is her essence that matters, not her corporeal body. Obviously, that makes you a very special and important man. If I am to recover the girl, I reckon you and I will have to spend a considerable amount of time working together. I'm sure it will be delightful."

"Go to hell."

"Oh, doctor," Broase smirked. "If only you could comprehend how ironic your witty little retort truly is." He finally released McCoy's chin and addressed his three remaining thugs. "Now why don't you see about ridding us of these pesky witnesses?" McCoy nearly choked as the Exiles moved to obey.

"You said you'd spare them!"

"I lied," Broase stated calmly, not the least bit fazed. He then focused on McCoy's guards. "He doesn't want to watch this. Beam him over to _Night Stalker_ and see that he's made welcome."

"You bastard!" McCoy would have lunged at Broase, would have ripped his throat out, but his guards restrained him, and his wrists were still cuffed behind his back. He could only shout and curse in rage, while the guards contacted their ship and requested transportation. The last thing he heard before his body dematerialized was a mother pleading for her child's life.

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **I know this chapter's a little dark, but I've always preferred the truly despicable, hateful villains over the dimwitted, incompetent ones. Sorry about that. Please review and let me know what you think of this fic. I _need_ more reviews! Thanks!


	4. Into the Altered Past

**ooooooo**

**Setting:** New Timeline, after the 2009 movie

Ambassador Sarek stood on a balcony overlooking construction of the new Vulcan colony's capital city. In many ways, if their vision of a brighter future was to be realized, this city would become as spectacular as her ancient predecessor, but despite that, it could not compensate for all the history and culture they had lost along with their home planet. The ruins, the temples, Mt. Seleya, all gone, and though it remained illogical to dwell on such bereavement, Sarek took another moment to mourn. He would never admit it, but he was not such a stranger to emotion, not since meeting, and losing, his Amanda.

To the north and south, the jagged mountain range glowed red in the sunlight. The humans sent by the Federation to inspect this new colony often described the view as majestic, and congratulated them on locating such a suitable, uninhabited world so quickly. They considered it a triumph, and the more superstitious among them called it a good omen. Their race could be inconceivably superficial, for though this planet might resemble Vulcan, it was not yet home. There had been no triumph. They might have understood that, had Earth also been destroyed, but as it was, they continued taking so much for granted.

In the nearly completed patio directly beneath Sarek's balcony, a solitary figure made his way over to the marble balustrade, gazing out at the mountains. He called himself Spock and to confirm his identity, he had consented to thorough medical examinations, even to the extent of DNA testing. Age discrepancies aside, his genetic material matched the son of Sarek's perfectly, and when he explained the situation that brought him back in time, to an alteration of his own past, no one could question his flawless logic.

The few humans aware of Spock's story often voiced their concerns regarding the pointlessness of Vulcan's destruction. They saw no meaning in it; the planet had been targeted by a Romulan whose sole motivation was vengeance for a tragedy that had yet to occur, that might never occur in this reality. One Starfleet officer described Vulcan as an innocent bystander, punished for a crime it did not commit, for a crime that, technically, had yet to be committed. Many blamed Ambassador Spock for it, believing his mistakes had driven Nero to such barbaric rage, resulting in highly illogical and senseless violence. They believed Spock should have known better, for what else could one expect from ruthless Romulans?

Sarek shook his head with a patient sigh. Humans were no more logical than Romulans, and when they pretended otherwise, they always managed to rationalize and thereby justify their arrogance and resent. They needed their scapegoats, and could not comprehend why the Vulcan survivors suffered Ambassador Spock's company, not to mention his leadership. Given time, they might eventually recognize their hostile behavior, and no doubt experience shame as a consequence, but until then, fear and indignation would cloud their minds. It couldn't be helped.

As for Ambassador Spock, it seemed clear to Sarek he had been punished enough without human assistance. The Vulcan was one hundred and fifty five years old, making him sixty two years Sarek's senior. His own father's senior. Having traveled backwards in time, he had a unique perspective on the universe, perhaps his only advantage. Otherwise, he remained an outsider, looking in where he did not belong. He could not very well take young Commander Spock's place aboard _Enterprise_ and start his life over again, that would have been illogical and impermissible. Nor could he carry on the diplomatic work to which he had been so devoted, endeavoring for reunification between the Vulcans and Romulans. Of course, he would always have a place, a purpose, in the new colony, should he desire it, but nevertheless, his life had been forced to a standstill, having changed directions without the slightest warning. Many of his colleagues had yet to be born, and those from his past had little need of him, turning instead to young Commander Spock for camaraderie. The Ambassador was alone, and the more Sarek considered it, the lonelier he perceived Spock to be.

Oddly enough, Ambassador Spock's loneliness satisfied Sarek in a manner no Vulcan would ever explain. Logically, in order for him to feel deprivation here, he must have felt satisfaction, perhaps even happiness, in the future where he came from. It meant that Spock, the child of two worlds, would one day learn where he belonged, and find peace with his mixed heritage. Sarek, as a father, could ask for nothing more, especially in the wake of such disaster.

Turning, Sarek left the balcony and made his way down to the ground floor, intending to join the ambassador out on the patio. When they first met, Spock had addressed him logically, refusing to let the awkward, undesirable situation agitate him in the slightest manner, as it might a human. As an endangered species, the Vulcans required every resource available to them, including the two diplomats. They both needed to accept each other, though Spock assured him he wanted nothing more. In his timeline, Sarek had already died. Logically, he could see no reason to impose himself on a family already struggling with its share of problems, especially when he had already come to terms his own misfortunes. Sarek had thanked him, and then the two began discussing the new colony.

"I understand you have nearly completed your _Stalwart_, Ambassador," Sarek presently stated, walking across the patio to stand beside the elder Vulcan. Spock had barely moved since reaching the balustrade, apparently lost in thought, with his fingers steepled, and his gaze focused on the mountains. Now, however, he glanced at Sarek attentively, if not with the tension customary in his younger counterpart. "It seems she is a controversial vessel. Her construction not only draws resources away from the colony, but there are many in the Federation who claim the technological advances she could potentially provide should be discovered at the proper time, by the proper people, and not by a visitor from the future. On the other hand, Starfleet engineers are eager to study her design, arguing that such progress is beneficial, no matter how or when it has been achieved."

Spock nodded, having no doubt considered the issue before. "Numerous Federation planets have sent our colony more resources than we can reasonably manage, and I have only utilized those nonessential to present construction. The colony has lost nothing on my behalf. As for _Stalwart's _technological achievements, I have taken great care to conceal them, and do not intend to share her designs with any Starfleet engineer. Should she happen to fall into an engineer's hands, even the most intelligent of humans would not understand the upgrades, and I expect they would inadvertently disable or destroy her before learning to operate her."

_Stalwart_ had been an ordinary cargo ship until Ambassador Spock acquired her and began upgrading her systems in his spare time, transforming her into one of the most advanced vessels the Federation had ever seen. Starfleet officers remained in heavy debate over what should be done about it. Some wanted the ship destroyed, others wanted her backward engineered. The minority, mostly Vulcans, believed Spock and _Stalwart_ should be left alone. The man was, after all, a twenty-fourth century scientist living in the twenty-third century. It would be unnecessarily cruel to limit his ingenuity to twenty-third century science. They saw no harm in allowing him to experiment for his own personal satisfaction, as a kind of recreation, as long as he did not allow his project to interfere with proper twenty-third century development.

"I cannot help but wonder if you mean to depart once the colony is fully established," Sarek continued pensively. "With a capable ship like _Stalwart_, you could travel anywhere in the galaxy, whether or not the Federation approves. Perhaps you already know of a civilization where you might be more at home. Given your experience and expertise, your knowledge of space is undoubtedly more expansive than ours." It was not a suggestion that Spock leave, merely an observation of the ease with which he could.

"I have not yet decided if or when I should go," Spock replied. "I am, in part, responsible for our people, and will not abandon them. However, it is logical to have multiple options. If the time comes, _Stalwart _will serve me well, and if I am to survive alone in the galaxy, nothing short of her would be sufficient for a one man crew, even in the case of a Vulcan." He seemed to have reached the conclusion he would spend the rest of his life in seclusion, a logical choice and well within his rights. Since Vulcans were instinctively social, to some extent more so than humans, given their telepathic natures, those who mastered their emotions enough to retreat from society when the occasion called for it were among the most respectable.

"Ambassador, I ask you to reconsider…"

"Thank you, Sarek, but it is not necessary," Spock said, anticipating him. The conversation had moved beyond _Stalwart_ to a more personal inquiry. Sarek perceived the elder's loneliness, but Spock still refused to address it. "I am officially here to inform you that _Enterprise _is en route, having procured even more supplementary provisions, mostly medical, should you desire to visit your son."

"And unofficially, you would request that I refrain from reminding him of his duties to his people," Sarek calmly deduced. "And when you leave us, Ambassador? Should I still continue ignoring his blatant negligence when he has lost the advantages of… how did you put it? Being in two places at once? You must realize my opinion is of very little significance. The remaining elders of the high council desire him to assist in the science academy's restoration, where not even you can take his place, unless we are to risk a scientific revelation for which we are ill prepared."

"I make no such request," Spock interrupted, his tone somewhat patronizing and ironic. "Your relationship with your son is not any of my business, and I would not think of interfering with it." Sarek nodded knowingly; neither of them could argue with the other, at least not when it came to the young Starfleet commander. Logically, the more involved Ambassador Spock was in his younger counterpart's life, the more he risked changing certain variables that shaped his character. Distance was preferable. And yet, Sarek found it comforting to know that Spock's association with Starfleet would one day produce such an admirable Vulcan. "Live long and prosper, Sarek."

"Live long and prosper."

**ooooooo**

When the unexpected Hinternolian shuttle swept over the Vulcan colony's sky, no one could ascertain its purpose, but no one doubted it was hostile. Had a member of the Kin been at the helm, the colony would have been hailed long before the ship's arrival. Since it instead resembled a raid, they could only assume Exiles were in command.

The Vulcans were among the few species aware of the time and interdimensional travelers, though most had been skeptical of their existence, believing them instead to be mythological. It was only due to their constant precision and attention to detail that they recognized both the shuttle and the warship sitting in orbit, not to mention the paratroopers who dove from a hatch in the shuttle to the ground below.

Though the Vulcan colony had been well protected, their ships failed to penetrate Hinternolian shields, and their unprepared ground forces had no time to coordinate. Exiles were nothing if not swift and dangerously efficient. When the paratroopers landed in the crowded plaza before the high council building, they proceeded to fire upon the Vulcans, their phasers fortunately set to stun. Sarek was among the last to fall, and consequently gained more attention than he might have liked.

Meanwhile, aboard the _Night Stalker_, Captain Broase ordered his first officer Phelon to destroy the starship defending the colony, or at the very least disable it. "I want the shields down at our earliest convenience. Kendrick, have the transporter room prepared to beam up the landing party along with their guests." Inwardly, he grinned in triumph. So much could be accomplished with a cooperative Vulcan, and it just so happened that in this reality Vulcans were particularly vulnerable. Luck was on his side, as usual.

"Firing torpedoes," Phelon informed everyone on the bridge. A moment later, through the viewscreen, Broase watched in satisfaction as the irksome starship took damage, forcing it to retreat. Starships rarely retreated, especially if it meant abandoning their posts, and intuition assured Broase she would strike again, after formulating a more strategic approach, perhaps bringing reinforcements. By then, however, it would be too late. This was literally a hit and run operation. Phelon glanced over at Broase. "Shields have been lowered, captain."

"Transporter room to bridge," a voice sounded over the intercom. "We have the landing party and three unconscious Vulcans, one of whom is pregnant."

"Excellent," Broase said, more pleased than ever. "Attempt to revive them. I will be down momentarily to escort them to the brig. Broase out." He focused on his helmsman, Turlough. "Take us into warp six. By the time those fools manage to regroup, we shall be long gone, and I will be free to continue my research at leisure." Turlough acknowledged, and Broase left him in flight control, hastening off the bridge. Words could not describe his anticipation. He was more than eager to begin.

**ooooooo**

When Sarek awoke, he found himself aboard a strange vessel with a severe headache. A brutish Hinternolian held him up off the ground by the front of his robes, savagely striking the side of his head, leading him to assume they either wanted to kill him or rouse him to consciousness. He decided on the latter as he feebly tried blocking the next assault. The Hinternolian sneered and dropped him; he hit the floor hard, but managed to suppress a moan.

Taking in his surroundings, Sarek detected three other Hinternolians, and two other Vulcans. He recognized them both. T'Ria was a pregnant mathematician, and Scorik a member of the merchant fleet. Both were in like predicaments, and slowly regaining consciousness. The third Hinternolian, the only one with clean hands, appeared to be in command, and spoke with mocking courtesy. "Welcome to the _Night Stalker_, my friend. I am Captain Broase, representative of the Hinternolian Exiles. I trust you will make yourself at home here. We have much to do, and I should like your stay to be as comfortable as possible."

"That seems doubtful," Sarek replied, his voice somewhat hoarse. Moving carefully, he climbed to his feet, keeping a close eye on everyone in the room. A transporter platform loomed in the back, and Sarek resolved to mark it as a reference point. If possible, he might be able to use the escape route later on. "For what reason have you brought us here?"

Broase opened his mouth to reply, but paused when T'Ria cried out, cradling her swollen stomach on the floor. Drawing on the reserves of his Vulcan strength, Scorik shoved his aggressor aside and faced the Hinternolian Exile tormenting the woman. He might have lunged, but stopped himself when Broase and Sarek's guard both aimed their phasers at him. Expressionless, he held up his hands, and then cautiously stepped forward, kneeling down beside T'Ria without anymore hostility. Broase smiled, smug and arrogant. "You see? We can be reasonable. I will allow you to care for your woman as long as you cooperate. She must be very valuable, as well as her unborn child, considering your race is endangered. It would be a tragedy should anything befall either one of them."

"I ask you again," Sarek said, unaffected by Broase's threat. "For what reason have you brought us here?"

"Not even the slightest trace of fear, I am impressed." Broase stepped towards the door, which slid open and revealed the corridor outside. He paused only long enough to glance back and beckon Sarek to accompany him. He did so, while the other Exiles grabbed Scorik and T'Ria, dragging them along roughly behind. Broase did not appear to notice. "I have never had the pleasure of meeting a Vulcan face to face before. This is truly an honor. They say Vulcans are cold, without feeling, but I suspect such statements are inconsequential. You can suppress your emotions, but suppression does not entail absolute elimination. Am I wrong?"

As they walked down the corridor, Sarek marked every turn, creating a detailed mental map of _Night Stalker_. She was an impressive ship, if not as spacious or luxurious as a starship. "I am Ambassador Sarek of the United Federation of Planets. By abducting me, Scorik, and T'Ria, you may very well have committed an act of war. For what reason…"

"Have I brought you here?" Broase scoffed. "I see it's true Vulcans are straight to the point. Very well. I am attempting to discover means of enhancing our interdimensional capabilities in ways that would astonish you. Unfortunately, some of my enemies are concealing those capabilities, and effectively at that. I need them unburied, Ambassador, and therefore require the unique talents of your race. You will not refuse me, for if you do, I will kill Scorik, T'Ria, and the child in her womb, not necessarily in that order. Do you think your kind can afford such a loss?"

"It is a heavy price," Sarek confessed. They came to a T-intersection, and the lane Broase chose led into the brig. It was sealed off by a force field, which the captain promptly deactivated. The twelve cells on the other side lacked individual force fields of their own, and were rather kept secure by thick, impenetrable bulkheads. Those locked within could neither be seen nor heard. Sarek had no way of speculating whether or not each cell contained a prisoner, whether the prisoners were isolated, or how they were treated, but if he had to guess, he would assume they were made as miserable as possible. From what he had seen of these Exiles, he doubted very much that any of them cared about the wellbeing of their prisoners.

Broase picked the fourth cell on the left, typed in a code on the security panel, and waited for the bulkhead to retract up into the ceiling. He stepped inside, the guards urging Sarek, T'Ria, and Scorik to follow. The cell's single prisoner appeared human, though for a startling, inexplicable moment, Sarek wanted to call him Spock. He wore black pants and a brown leather jacket, had dark, graying hair, a face chiseled with lines and wrinkles, and exhausted blue eyes. His wrists were cuffed tightly behind his back, he looked half starved, and his right cheek was stained by an old bruise. Sarek frowned, slowly starting to comprehend the reason why Broase desired Vulcan assistance.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you're out of your mind, captain, especially if you think you can sic a Vulcan on me," the prisoner said, addressing Broase with an air of casual familiarity. Sarek did not know how long he had been aboard _Night Stalker_, or how badly he had been abused, but it was to his credit that he retained some of the spine for which humans were so infamous.

"They will comply with my every wish, doctor, rest assured," Broase stated confidently. "I have brought you to a time and a place where your friends will never find you, where no one will even bother to look for you, and would you believe that in this particular reality, the planet Vulcan has been completely annihilated? The Ambassador here represents an endangered race, and will not jeopardize the life of this female's child. It is too invaluable, doctor, while you, on the other hand, are not. At least not to them."

The doctor's face had paled considerably, not at the prospect of being trapped in an alternate reality, which he may have already expected, given the interdimensional capabilities of his captors, but only at the mention of Vulcan's destruction. Evidently, the plight of Sarek's people genuinely upset him. "Annihilated? How? When?"

"I do not know nor care about the details, doctor," Broase replied, seizing his arm, hauling him off the bench, and forcefully directing him over to Sarek. "I only know what the star charts tell me, but if it bothers you, I am sure the Ambassador would be kind enough to share everything while the two of you are melded." The doctor and Sarek caught gazes, and for all his spine, fear slipped into the poor man's expression. He could not hide it, and Sarek could not blame him. Vulcan mind melds were intense and personal; when employed without consent, the effects could be traumatizing.

"You are asking me to commit a serious crime," Sarek informed Broase, holding his hands behind his back, where they could do no damage. "Perhaps the worst among my people."

"A Vulcan would rather face extinction than sacrifice integrity," T'Ria added, shaking herself free from her guard. Despite the danger presented to herself and her progeny, she was not scared, merely indignant. "Ambassador, you must not yield to him, especially not on my behalf. Now, more than ever, it is imperative we cling to that which makes us Vulcan. The captain is overestimating the child's importance, and even if he was not, extinction is preferable to what he demands."

"Then it's true," Broase said, shaking his head in disappointment. "Logic even outweighs maternal instinct. I stand by my earlier conjecture. Suppressing emotions does not entail eliminating them. But I wonder? Perhaps it eliminates something more important than your emotions. Perhaps it eliminates your soul." He clucked his tongue. "Ambassador, you may recall I did not threaten your life, merely theirs." He nodded at T'Ria and Scorik. "If it is an ethical dilemma, consider this. Should you fail to cooperate, I will kill them, and then turn to the aid of a Klingon mind-ripper, forcing you to watch."

"That won't do you any damn good and you know it!" The doctor's exclamation was rewarded by a painful blow to the head.

"There are secrets trapped inside this man's mind I cannot access," Broase told Sarek. "Secrets not even he can access! Hidden by a parasite! A parasite with which you alone can communicate. You, Ambassador, could be gentle with both him and the damn pest. Gentle and efficient. Isn't that preferable to a mind-ripper? Such a device would devastate two minds, and who knows how much information would be needlessly wasted? If it comes to that, if you still refuse to cooperate, you will have a front row seat to the interrogation, I promise you that, and then you can tell me you made the moral decision."

Sarek glanced from Broase to his prisoner, and then nodded.

"Ambassador!" T'Ria and Scorik both took a step forward, and were both pulled back by their guards.

"I will do what you ask," Sarek told Broase. "But before I reveal to you any of the information I might uncover, you will return T'Ria and Scorik unharmed to the Vulcan colony, release them, and then leave the planet well behind. Do we have an agreement?"

Broase smirked. "I suppose I should have expected an Ambassador to bargain. Very well."

Sarek nodded again, and turned his attention to the doctor, who tried shrinking away, unsuccessfully, unable to break free from Broase's grasp. "I do apologize for the invasion. I see no other acceptable alternative." He reached out his hand and pressed his fingers against the proper nerves on the doctor's face, closing his eyes as he did so.

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **I'm a bit worried about this chapter. You see, I'm not a Vulcan, I'm not logical, and I'm not entirely certain I did them justice. That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please review. Thanks!


	5. Rescue

**ooooooo**

Before Sarek could establish the link between his mind and the doctor's, something large and powerful collided against _Night Stalker_, knocking everyone in the cell off their feet. Something reminiscent to thunder rumbled around them, and for several long minutes, the ship heaved up and down, left and right, as if it had stumbled into a particularly violent ion storm. With nothing to hold onto, the three Exile guards found themselves either on their hands and knees or pressed up against one of the walls. Meanwhile, Broase and the human stumbled backwards, landing heavily on the bench.

Sarek, Scorik, and T'Ria were likewise thrown off balance, but they immediately found themselves with several advantages. Aside from the fact they were nimbler, they were also quick to retaliate. Hinternolian Exiles spent most of their time instigating rapid attacks followed by swift retreats. Guerrilla warfare. They were a completely offensive group, hardly accustomed to mounting their own defense, and their response time appeared to be lacking. It was not an opportunity the Vulcans could easily pass up.

T'Ria crawled over to her guard and grappled for his phaser. Scorik climbed to his feet and kicked the guard beneath him. Sarek staggered across the room to the far wall, where the third guard had braced himself. He leveled his phaser, but the ship rocked, pitching him forward. The weapon fired, but with wide aim, and the guard stumbled uselessly into Sarek's arms. Catching him, the Ambassador proceeded to pinch the nerve at the base of his neck. Dropping the unconscious Exile, he turned to see T'Ria confiscate her own guard's phaser. She blasted the two remaining guards in quick succession.

"No!" Broase had been shouting the whole time, but could barely be heard above the noise. He had attempted to draw his phaser, only to be body slammed by the doctor. The phaser had slid across the floor, and Scorik presently recovered it. When Broase pushed his prisoner away from him and sat up on the floor, he found Scorik and T'Ria towering over him, aiming their newly acquired weapons. "Be reasonable," Broase spat as soon as the ruckus died and the ship stopped shaking. "You can't escape _Night Stalker_. My men outnumber you. This show of defiance is ultimately a waste of time and energy. You will be punished for it."

"Not necessarily," Scorik replied serenely. "At this moment, we are operating with limited intelligence. The only certainty is that I have set this phaser to kill, and if you have any sense of self-preservation, you will contact your bridge and inquire into our present predicament."

"Without revealing to them yours," T'Ria added. Broase glared at her, sputtering angrily.

As they tested their willpower, the doctor sat up on his knees, groaning in pain. Sarek glanced at him in concern, feeling responsible for his safety on many levels. For one, he had nearly forced a mind meld on him, and such an action would have been inexcusable. For another, something about him continued to remind the Ambassador of his son, though he could not explain why or how. Kneeling down next to the man, Sarek gently took hold of his face, turning it to the right to examine his forehead. He had a deep cut, and winced at Sarek's touch. "You're hurt."

"Tell me something I don't know," the doctor snapped, jerking his head away from Sarek's hands. He tugged uselessly at the cuffs still restraining his arms, and cursed, tears in his eyes. Sarek helped him to his feet.

"Broase to bridge." Scorik and T'Ria had finally convinced their Exile captive to comply with their commands. His expression, however, reeked of hatred, and he gripped his communicator so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Phelon, report!"

"_Night Stalker _has been rammed by the _U.S.S. Enterprise_, sir! She came up from behind, and now our shields are down! We're trying to outrun her, but it's taking Kendrick forever to boost the engines! With your permission, sir, I would advise utilizing the subatomic disruptor."

"Negative, commander! It's not ready, and we could just as easily destroy ourselves along with our assailants! Besides, you do not possess the necessary authorization codes, and I am in no position to relay them!" Scorik shoved his phaser against Broase's forehead, silently warning him not to reveal too much information.

"Sir!" A different, nearly indistinct voice sounded over the communicator, no doubt springing from an officer at a separate station from Phelon. "I'm detecting five intruders on deck four!"

"They must be heading for the brig!" Phelon shouted.

"Impossible!" Broase threw the communicator across the room, infuriated, a perfect example why Vulcans disapproved of emotion. It clearly compromised whatever control an individual hoped to possess. "It's 2259! Transwarp beaming cannot have been discovered by the Federation! Not yet!"

"Captain Broase, might I make a suggestion?" Sarek calmly interrupted the man's tantrum, and was answered by a red face and protruding blood vessels. "If you intend to attack my colony in the future, avoid doing so when we are expecting _Enterprise's _arrival. She is known to pursue criminals, especially kidnappers."

"Especially kidnappers who abduct diplomats," T'Ria added.

"Especially kidnappers who abduct family," the human doctor took it one step further, much to Sarek's surprise. The man stood glaring at Broase with a twisted look of satisfaction on his bloody face. "If it really is 2259, then Commander Spock is already serving aboard _Enterprise _as first officer, and you were dumb enough to go and kidnap his father, you stupid bastard. Emotionless or not, do you honestly think he won't go the extra mile to rescue his own father?"

"We must depart now," Scorik said, looking as stunned as Sarek felt by the doctor's declaration. Who was he? How much did he know about Spock and _Enterprise_? Such questions, however, could not be answered in that instant, and they did not allow their confusion to hamper their escape. "We do not have much time before _Night Stalker's _engines and shields are repaired, and if we fail to beam out before then, we will not be given another chance." Sarek nodded, signaling Scorik to take point. T'Ria followed him; pregnant or not, she was still perfectly capable of firing a phaser. Sarek and the doctor brought up the rear; on several occasions, the man nearly collapsed, no doubt faint from his head wound, and Sarek had to support him.

Locking Broase inside his own prison cell, the four fugitives proceeded down the corridor, making all the necessary turns to reach the transporter room. It did not take long for them to encounter their rescue party; Sarek immediately recognized Spock and Captain James T. Kirk, though the additional three men were unfamiliar to him. At the sight of the Starfleet officers, the doctor mumbled another obscenity, and it occurred to Sarek that, as a victim trapped by the Hinternolians in an alternate time and reality, this entire scenario might be overwhelming him.

"Father." Spock lowered his phaser and rushed to assist Sarek, supporting the doctor's other shoulder.

After acknowledging his son, Sarek regarded the commanding officer. "Captain Kirk. Is it standard procedure for a man of your rank to accompany his men on these rescue missions?"

A sly smirk appeared on the young captain's face. "Don't know about that, sir, but I couldn't just sit back and let _him_ have all the fun." He nodded at Spock, who raised an eyebrow. Neither he nor Sarek understood what aspect of the mission Kirk considered 'fun,' and they did not have time to ask. Kirk glanced from the doctor to Scorik and T'Ria. "Is there anyone else who needs rescuing before we ditch this place?"

"You bet there is!" Remembering himself, the doctor glanced urgently over shoulder, looking back the way they had come. "Every damn one of those cells held numerous captives, and now that I think about it, one of them happens to be extremely important!"

"Attempting to rescue them now would be illogical," Sarek stated somberly, noting how the injured man tensed at his words. "Each prison cell is sealed off by bulkheads. Phasers cannot penetrate them, and we do not have sufficient time to either hack into the security system or crack the necessary codes. I am sorry, doctor, but Scorik is correct. If we do not leave now, the Hinternolian Exiles will assuredly recapture us."

The doctor shook his head stubbornly. "I can't just leave without trying to…" He struggled to slip out of the Vulcans' arms, but Sarek did not allow it, and one look at his son persuaded Spock to hold on as well. Even if he had been healthy, the doctor would not have been able to match a Vulcan's strength, and in his current condition, his efforts to resist were meager at best. "Let go of me! At the very least, I have to _try_ getting them out!"

"You are injured and your arms are restrained. We do not have the tools to release you," Sarek reminded him. He focused on the captain. "After you."

Kirk nodded, producing his communicator. "Kirk to _Enterprise_. If you can manage it, nine to beam up." There was no question that he fully expected his crew to 'manage it.' Failure to do so was not an option. As the doctor sagged miserably, the lot of them dematerialized into pillars of light, only to reform on the starship's transporter pad. Kirk wasted no time in contacting the bridge and demanding an update on _Night Stalker_.

"They're fast, sir. They've accelerated to warp eight."

"I recommend you order your helmsman to stand down," Sarek said helpfully. Kirk glanced over at him, baffled, and opened his mouth to protest, but Sarek held up a conciliatory hand. He knew very well what the captain would say. They had _Night Stalker _on the run, and he could not allow them to escape when it seemed he could just as easily incapacitate them. "Hinternolian Exiles are devious, Captain Kirk. They are wild and impulsive. We have angered them enough. Let them go before they discover a means of retaliation that might surprise you. They will return for another confrontation, I am certain of that. By then, we may be better prepared to apprehend them."

Kirk shook his head. "And what makes you so sure they won't cut their losses and get the hell out of here? We can't let them go unpunished, Ambassador."

"They will try again," Sarek assured him. "Because we are now in possession of something they want." At his confident assertion, every eye in the room zeroed in on the stranger slumping feebly between him and his son.

**ooooooo**

When Jim led the rescued Vulcans along with Commander Spock and another, older human into sickbay, Bones was leaning against a counter cluttered with tricorders, microscopes, and other medical devices, engrossed in the monitor displaying his latest test results. However, he noted the six incomers from the corner of his eye, having expected them for awhile now, and abruptly changed tasks without hesitation and only slight irritation.

"Next time you decide to play bumper cars, Jim, I'd appreciate a warning," he snapped, giving the Vulcans and the human a quick onceover to determine whose condition warranted his attention first. They would all need an examination, whether they wanted one or not, standard procedure, but the human and the female Vulcan quickly became his top priority. Hustling them over to the biobeds and ordering them to sit, he grabbed a dermal regenerator and set about treating the cut on the human's forehead while continuing his tirade. "Rescue operations are all well and good, but ramming another ship? Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what kind of hull damage that might have caused? Did no one explain to you the _Titanic_? And you!" He glared sharply at Spock. "What happened to all that logic you're always bragging about?"

Spock raised his chin. "I assure you, doctor, my logic remains perfectly intact. Mr. Scott and I both monitored the procedure closely, ensuring minimal damage to the ship, which Mr. Scott promises to have repaired in due course. Mr. Sulu maneuvered _Enterprise _with careful precision, and did not once lose control. Everything went according to plan, and the mission was, quite obviously, a success."

Jim smirked. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

Bones scoffed, rolling his eyes as the wound on his patient's forehead quickly healed. He then aimed the dermal regenerator at the shallower cuts on each of his wrists. From the looks of it, the man had been handcuffed or otherwise bound for quite some time, only recently liberated. Bones didn't recall any mention of a human being kidnapped off the colony, just three Vulcans, which meant the poor man had already been a Hinternolian prisoner. The bruise on his face suggested his treatment hadn't been particularly civil. "I'm Dr. McCoy," he told the man. "We're going to take care of you. Can you describe any pain you might be feeling? Do you have any other injuries?"

"No," the old man shook his head, snatching the dermal regenerator and tossing it on the nearest counter. "And even if I did, let's keep the regeneration process down to a minimum. You have absolutely no idea how clumsy those damn things really are. Can't believe how primitive this place is." Bones frowned, and couldn't conceal his bewilderment. The man noticed, and sighed, waving his hand in the Vulcans' general direction. "Look, why don't you go tend to one of them? T'Ria's pregnant and the stress of recent events may have affected the child."

"Okay…" Bones shook off his perplexity and reached for a tricorder. As he began examining T'Ria, wondering what the old man meant by calling his sickbay 'primitive,' the single most prestigious passenger currently aboard _Enterprise_, Ambassador Sarek, took his place at the man's bedside.

"Now that we are among allies, recovering our health, perhaps it would be pertinent if you explained who you are, where you come from, and why the Hinternolians have taken such an interest in you. Captain Broase mentioned secrets hidden inside your mind that can enable him to enhance his interdimensional capabilities. He also mentioned a parasite." Parasite? Bones nearly dropped the tricorder. That didn't sound good! He spun around, noting the irritation on the man's tired face. Was it possible he could be host to some alien entity? That might easily call for a full body scan!

"It's hardly a parasite," the old man grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "That was just Broase being a typical bastard. What I have is the astral projected essence of a young Hinternolian woman. She merged her mind into my subconscious. The Exiles don't care about me whatsoever. They just want access to her. They've been trying to force me into communicating with her, but with very little success. Truth be told, I can't imagine she's still in there. Haven't heard from her since before my capture, and the fact I'm able to talk about any of this at all makes me think she's moved on to someone else. She's shy, and she used to prevent me from discussing her presence even with those who would have been the most eager to help her. But apparently the Exiles can still 'smell her in me,' so I guess her essence remains."

"Astral projection is an extremely strenuous ability," Sarek observed. "Do you know the location of her physical body? It could be that she has drained herself of all energy attempting to cling to you, especially if she is projecting herself from an alternate dimension." The old man shrugged.

"That's all I can tell you," he said. "Whatever secrets she's keeping, she's doing a damn good job."

"It certainly explains why the Exiles were so desperate to get their hands on a bunch of Vulcans," Jim added thoughtfully. "If anyone can bypass the conscious regions of a man's mind and communicate with whatever's hiding out in his subconscious, it would have to be one of you guys, right?" Everyone in sickbay visibly tensed at the captain's words; Bones and even Spock eyed Sarek suspiciously. A forced mind meld was no small matter.

"Indeed," Sarek stated grimly. "Which is why I am in your debt, Captain Kirk. Your timing was most auspicious." Jim had the decency not to look too pleased with himself; it certainly wasn't everyday a Vulcan expressed his gratitude to a mere human. He did, however, look somewhat at a loss.

"So what's the big deal?" he tactlessly demanded, uncrossing his arms. "It's a quick, efficient, relatively painless means of communication, perhaps a bit daunting at first, but if it's the easiest way to access such important information, then why not?" He wasn't oblivious to the weight of the subject, he knew it was a difficult issue, but it seemed he didn't know why, and had to understand. "I mean, sure, potentially it could be violating, but it's not like _you_ would ever intrude on his innermost, private thoughts, Ambassador. That other Spock melded with my mind to help me understand the situation with Nero, and he didn't cause any damage."

"What other Spock?" the old man asked.

"Long story," Bones replied.

"Vulcan mind melds are dangerous and intensely personal, captain," Spock took it upon himself to explain. "Such intimacy must be welcomed, for if not, the mind could be devastated. I cannot speak for my elder counterpart. His perspective varies from mine, and I can only assume his experience and discipline, not to mention his knowledge of the Jim Kirk from his own era, assisted him during your brief encounter. It would be unwise to expect such restraint from other Vulcans, especially when they are unfamiliar with their partners."

"Oh."

"And I certainly don't need any Vulcans poking around in my subconscious," the old man barked. "The mind's one thing. You're aware of your thoughts and can at the very least try shielding them. In the subconscious, it's different. You could peer into a man's very soul and see things he doesn't even know are there. You could know him better than he knows himself, and I'll be damned before I let any of you that close. Especially you!" He leveled his eyes on Spock, who looked back at him dispassionately. "There has to be another way to contact her, to get her out of me, and unless you can figure it out, Ambassador Sarek's right. The Exiles will keep coming after me, and god only knows the lengths they'll go to get me back. That said, I hope none of you will mind if I feel the need to pour myself a drink." Without waiting for a response, he hopped off the bed and wandered straight into Bones' office.

**ooooooo**

"So, what do you make of him, Ambassador?" Jim asked as he, Sarek, and Spock navigated their way through the long, wide, well lit corridors of _Enterprise_, ignoring the throngs of engineers, technicians, scientists, and other crewmen passing swiftly around them. The ship was nothing if not busy, constantly buzzing with activity. "You've been with him longer than any of us. Any idea why he won't even tell us his name?"

"Captain Broase made it clear he is from a different time and reality, not unlike Ambassador Spock," Sarek replied. "It is logical to assume he is in some way affiliated with Starfleet. He recognized me as Spock's father, and seems familiar with Spock's service record. He knows more about the Vulcan race than the average human, and was unpleasantly shocked to learn of our planet's destruction."

"Perhaps he too has a younger counterpart somewhere aboard this ship and has been led to fear the universe-ending paradoxes that might ensue should he reveal his identity," Spock said, glancing pointedly at Jim. "It is not uncommon for humans to make such assumptions." Jim stifled a laugh; if he didn't know any better, he'd accuse Spock of enjoying such blatant jibes. He wondered if the Vulcan would ever let him live that gullibility down.

"So, what you're saying is, we can trust him, and he's worth protecting?" Jim had over four hundred crewmembers and a colony of Vulcans to consider, and he couldn't afford to risk their lives for the sake of one man with an alien entity buried in his subconscious, especially if that man insisted on remaining a stranger, unless duty called for it, or he had no other choice. Jim certainly couldn't return him to the Exiles, he had no doubt about that. The Exiles were criminals, and he fully intended to deliver them to justice. But that didn't mean he couldn't drop the old man off at the first convenient outpost, and let someone else deal with him.

"He could be an asset to us," Spock casually remarked. "The concept of interdimensional travel is truly fascinating, and this alien entity connected to his subconscious must have a unique understanding of it, if she can enhance the already proficient capabilities of her kind. Whoever he is, he might very well be worth the investment."

Jim couldn't help but shudder. "You know something, Spock, I bet that stranger really does know an alternate version of you. The more you talk like that, the more I can see why he _especially _doesn't want _you _inside his head!" Spock raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement. At that moment, their conversation was interrupted by Jim's communicator. He answered it swiftly. "Kirk here."

"Captain," Uhura's voice sounded as beautiful as ever. "I'm receiving a transmission from the Vulcan shuttlecraft, _Stalwart_, requesting permission to dock."

"Acknowledged," Jim said, glancing from Spock to Sarek in surprise. "Have the shuttlebay lower the space doors and raise the force field. I'll be down momentarily to welcome the Ambassador." He hesitated, flipping the communicator shut, and considering this new development. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Two old men, not only from alternate realities, but also from the future, both onboard _Enterprise_, all at the same time? "If you'd like to accompany me, gentlemen, I think there's a chance we might get some answers after all."

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **I hope this is still making sense… Anyway, I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and the only thing that matters more to me than that is a good review! Please?


	6. Reunion

**ooooooo**

As Jim, Spock, and Sarek hastened into the shuttlebay, their anticipation mounted to unexpected new heights. Word had gotten out of the Ambassador's arrival, and with _Stalwart _approaching the flight deck, numerous technicians, engineers, and other crewmembers abandoned their duties to turn and watch, and they weren't the only ones. Up in the observation deck, those curious, lucky few who happened to be off duty wandered over to the window overlooking the shuttlebay and gaped like children at the zoo. It wasn't often they got to see a shuttlecraft that had been overhauled by a genius from the twenty-fourth century.

Moving with the grace and efficiency one could only expect from a Vulcan ship, _Stalwart _penetrated the shuttlebay force field and landed on the deck. She was larger than most shuttles, having been converted from a discarded cargo ship. Technically, she could no longer be classified as either type of vessel, but it did not look like Starfleet would allow her to serve as anything but a shuttle, ferrying around passengers who, for any reason, could not afford to beam to their destinations. Long and cylindrical, her hull boasted dark gray, nearly black armor that Jim could not identify, and towards the rear of the ship, on either side, the engine pods supported additional weaponry that failed to detract from her overall dignity. Jim couldn't help but whistle at the sight of her. "Now that is a very fine piece of work. I'll bet you anything Scotty's just dying to get his hands on her."

Sure enough, _Enterprise's _chief engineer stood at the other end of the flight deck, bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement. Jim sensed that Spock and Sarek were likewise impressed, though, as always, they contained their pleasure with greater ease. "She does have a certain elegance most Federation vessels lack," Sarek noted. "Unfortunately for your Mr. Scott, the Ambassador has taken every precaution to secure the _Stalwart _from undesired inspections. He does not wish to reveal the future's technology to anyone."

"Yeah, well, whatever security systems he might be using, even if they're vocal or optical, I bet Spock here could infiltrate it," Jim insisted, slapping his first officer on the back. "You two are biologically identical, aren't you?" Spock glanced at him with a slight grimace.

"Be that as it may," he said. "Need I remind you, captain, the last time I stepped inside one of the Ambassador's ships, I deliberately set it on a collision course with the _Narada_? It is unlikely he will trust me with another. I know I would be hesitant to do so. I expect the Ambassador has equipped this ship with a measure of security not even I can contend with."

Jim sighed, wondering how to break the disappointing news to Scotty. Meanwhile, _Stalwart's _rear hatch descended, turning into a makeshift ramp. From his vantage point, Jim could barely see into the craft's cargo hold, and leaned to the right as inconspicuously as possible to get a better look. Instead, all he saw was the familiar form of Ambassador Spock, who abruptly marched down the ramp while wearing the same grave expression Jim remembered from their first encounter. He quickly straightened himself back up, and led his two companions over to meet the Vulcan.

"Captain Kirk," Ambassador Spock greeted Jim with a hint of urgency in his voice. As _Stalwart's _hatch automatically closed behind him, he offered both the younger Commander and Ambassador nods of acknowledgement even as he continued addressing the captain. "It is good to see you in command of _Enterprise_." Before Jim could so much as thank him, and offer his own compliments on _Stalwart_, Spock held up a hand. "I would like to make all the polite formalities, but I understand you recently rescued a human from the Hinternolians who attacked our colony."

"Yes, along with Ambassador Sarek, Scorik, and T'Ria," Jim said, quickly returning to the matter at hand. Spock's inquiry was, at least to him, confirmation enough that his arrival hadn't been coincidental. Besides, Jim didn't like formalities anyway. He preferred answers. "Actually, I was wondering if you might have any information in regards to him. He's from an alternate future, kind of like you, and he's not exactly what you'd call an open man. He won't tell us much about himself and he's refusing the only help we have available to him."

"Where is he?"

"We left him with Bones in sickbay." The Ambassador took off before Jim had even finished the sentence, remarkably in the right direction. Mystified, he glanced at the Commander and Sarek, both of whom raised their eyebrows before turning to follow the elder. Jim whirled after them, racing to catch up with Ambassador Spock. "Wait a minute! Do you know him?" It wouldn't be that surprising, considering Spock seemed to know everyone.

"Indeed," Spock replied. "His name is Leonard McCoy."

**ooooooo**

"Listen, old man! Just because you're not in critical condition doesn't mean you can sit at my desk and drink my saurian brandy! What you need is bed rest and a warm meal! You've been a prisoner on that Exile ship for days, possibly even weeks. When's the last time you got a decent night's sleep? If you keep making this difficult, I'll call security and have you tied down!" Bones stood across the desk from his patient, who barely responded to a word he said. In fact, the old man seemed perfectly oblivious, leaning back in the chair with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, lost in his thoughts.

Sighing, Bones glanced over his shoulder at Christine Chapel, who stood waiting anxiously in his doorframe. She was a bright young nurse, quick to please, and always concerned about her patients' welfare. This one, no matter how stubborn he might be, was no exception. "Never thought I'd live to see the day where I actually prefer Vulcan reason to human obstinacy," he told her, too frustrated to think. "Scorik said Captain Broase addressed him as a doctor. Go figure. We really do make terrible patients." Despite everything, his last remark brought a smile to Christine's face, which was something, at least.

"I'm not a patient," the old man said, finally returning to life even as he poured himself more brandy. "And even if I was, there's nothing you can do with all your outdated junk that I didn't try before my capture with the latest state-of-the-art medical equipment. What you're proposing, bed rest and a warm meal, is nothing but a waste of time. I assure you, the Exiles forced me to have plenty of sleep. At the beginning, it was the only way they could conceive of making me contact Anna. Did I mention her name's Anna? And as for the warm meal, I wouldn't be able to hold it down."

"So you're drinking brandy?"

"Well, what would you do?" the old man demanded. Bones opened his mouth to respond, but something in the old man's eye hindered him, and he stopped short. Those eyes… For an unnerving moment, it felt like his own father was staring back at him, and Bones certainly couldn't reprimand him when the truth of it was, had their roles been reversed, he'd be drinking too. The old man smiled knowingly and raised his glass. "I rest my case."

"You haven't proven anything that I hadn't already established," Bones retorted, quickly recovering from his insecurity. "Doctors make bad patients. Now, you've had your drink, and unless you want a major hangover on top of everything else you're suffering, you _will _put the brandy down and return to bed!" Much to Bones' exasperation, the old man merely scoffed and took another sip.

"All right, that's enough," Christine said, coming to Bones' aid. She marched into the office, made her way around the desk, and confiscated both the glass and the bottle with swift, no-nonsense determination that clearly startled the old man. "Whether you like it or not, mister, as long as you remain on _Enterprise_, you will follow Dr. McCoy's medical advice, just like everyone else. If he says you're his patient, then you're his patient, and I don't care whether you're a doctor, captain, or the president himself." She slammed the glass and bottle onto the desk and reached for the old man's arm, helping him out of the chair.

"All right, already," the old man drew away from her, while staring at her in bewilderment, like one who couldn't comprehend why she would speak to him in that manner. He was a doctor, after all. Maybe he wasn't accustomed to nurses ordering him around. "Maybe some bed rest couldn't hurt…" He grumbled irately and walked past Bones, who nodded gratefully at Christine. She smiled back.

As they ambled back into sickbay, they were just in time to welcome Jim, Spock, Sarek, and, of all people, Ambassador Spock. The four had just arrived, and at the sight of them, Bones, Christine, and the old man all froze, momentarily speechless, and Bones had a feeling they were all looking at either one of the two Spocks. Personally, Bones didn't think the universe was big enough for multiple pointy-eared hobgoblins, and having both of them in his sickbay at one time already disoriented him.

"Well, I'll be damned," the old man whispered as Ambassador Spock slowly approached him. From their beds, Scorik and T'Ria both sat up attentively, and Bones glanced at Jim in confusion. He had half a mind to demand what the hell was going on, but Jim looked back at him with a shrug, which convinced him to hold tight and wait to see whether or not events would play themselves out. "I heard them talking about a second Spock in this reality," the old man continued. "But I didn't think he'd be as old as you. You're older than the Spock I know!"

"And you," Ambassador Spock replied, his tense expression gradually relaxing, "are younger than the Leonard McCoy I remember, though not nearly as young as him." He nodded at Bones, whose mouth dropped open. He stumbled backwards, catching himself in the office doorframe, and glanced desperately around the room, searching for someone to deny it. The damn Vulcans just looked so fascinated, while Jim covered his mouth, evidently amused. This couldn't be happening.

"No way!" Bones shook his head and waved his hand, as if exaggerating his farewell to the Ambassador. "There is no way in hell I'm dealing with myself! At least not my future self. That's not who he is, that can't possibly be who he is. It's insane. It's impossible. He's impossible." Bones glared at the old man in resent. "He's a stubborn, drinking know-it-all who doesn't see reason!"

"And that doesn't sound like you whatsoever, does it, Bones?" Jim asked, trying very hard not to laugh. "And for the record, it's not impossible. There's two Spocks in the universe, so why not two McCoys? We're talking about Hinternolians. They can travel from one dimension to another. Apparently, it's all very logical."

"That doesn't mean it makes sense," Bones shot back.

"I bet that saurian brandy sounds pretty good right about now," Dr. McCoy stated, smiling calmly at Bones. He looked back at Ambassador Spock, scrutinizing him from head to toe. "So what's the plan? You think just because you're older and more disciplined than any of the other Vulcans on this ship, and that you managed to mind meld with Jim over there without inflicting damage, that I'm going to let you anywhere near my subconscious? Well, you can forget it. I don't care how many Leonard McCoys exist in an infinite number of alternate dimensions, and I don't care how many of them you've encountered in your lifetime. You don't know me, and for all I know, you used to have a beard and only managed to advance in rank by assassinating your predecessors!"

"What the hell is he talking about?" Bones asked quietly, easing around the room until he reached Jim's side. Jim, however, didn't have any idea. In fact, the only one who didn't appear completely lost by McCoy's outburst was Ambassador Spock himself, and he responded with a pleasant smile. A smile of all things!

"You may rest assured, Doctor, that I have never had a beard, and do not condone assassination," the Ambassador said. "The mirror reality you, Jim, Scotty, and Uhura stumbled upon all those years ago had no connection with ours. This reality, however, was just recently created, shaped out of ours, when tragic circumstances altered the past, slicing the timeline and launching it in a different direction that now runs analogously with the original. We are both from the same reality, old friend. The Hinternolian Exiles did not take you as far from home as they led you to believe, and the truth is, we know each other well. It does me good to see you. Your presence is proof that our reality did not cease to exist when our history changed."

"I think I need to sit down," McCoy groaned, rubbing his head. The Ambassador nodded, and McCoy drifted over to the nearest biobed. He landed heavily, looking tired and confused. "You keep saying 'our.' Our reality. Our history. Well, what makes you so sure? Maybe our realities are just similar. Remarkably similar. How do you know you're dealing with the same Leonard McCoy?"

Good question. As every eye in the room swiveled back to the Ambassador, he took a deep breath. "Considering our present company, doctor, a simple explanation might prove unwise." From the corner of his eye, Bones recognized Jim's disappointment. The kid was curious. Hell, they were all curious. Ambassador Spock, however, had taken their curiosity into account, and seemed resolved to deny them their satisfaction. "Trust that my judgment is sound, and my reasons, logical."

McCoy scoffed and crossed his arms. "I don't know about you, Spock, but that just sounded to me like an appeal for my faith. You're asking for faith, and I'm demanding logic. When did that happen? Did hell freeze over when I wasn't looking…?" He trailed off, his face turning white, as if something terrible had just occurred to him. "Tragic circumstances…" He glanced around the room, his icy blue gaze sweeping from Jim and Bones to Christine to Commander Spock and Sarek and finally back to the Ambassador. "You're talking about Vulcan. Broase said Vulcan was annihilated. That's what altered history!"

How the devil did he go from faith, logic, and hell freezing over to Vulcan's destruction? Bones suppressed a moan, feeling the onset of a migraine. He hated people from alternate realities.

"On the contrary," Ambassador Spock said, at last breaking the tense silence. "Vulcan's destruction was merely one result of the alteration, not its instigation." Bones glanced nervously at the Commander and Sarek, and then at Scorik and T'Ria. He was positive they didn't need a reminder of who motivated Nero to target their world. It took a moment for Bones to remember that Vulcans were logical, and holding grudges was not.

"Were you there?" McCoy demanded anxiously. Whether or not he accepted the Ambassador's claim to have originated from the same reality, he seemed genuinely concerned on his behalf. Then again, it might not make that much of a difference what reality he came from. As bizarre as it was, this Spock and this McCoy appeared more or less friendly with each other, and if Bones had been trapped in an alternate dimension, he doubted he would be indifferent to his friends, even if they were strangers to him. Still… this guy was friends with _Spock_?

"Were you there?" McCoy demanded again, more adamantly, when Spock hesitated to reply. The Ambassador seemed surprisingly uncomfortable for a Vulcan, even dismayed, and had to close his eyes when he finally nodded.

"I was close enough," he said.

"Spock…" McCoy slid off the bed, taking several steps toward the Ambassador. All his distrust, frustration, and irritability transformed into an expression of total compassion. "When we lost _Intrepid _to that damn amoeba, and you felt those four hundred Vulcans die…" Spock held up a hand, signaling McCoy to stop, but he wasn't quick enough. Bones knew the _U.S.S. Intrepid _was an impressive starship with an exclusively Vulcan crew, and though he couldn't comprehend how an amoeba managed to destroy it, he realized McCoy had just let slip a future event from an alternate reality. Hopefully, it wouldn't happen here. Those four hundred Vulcans were among the surviving ten thousand, and the colony couldn't afford to lose them.

"It was… painful…" Spock confessed. Bones glanced sideways at the young Commander Spock, who was listening intently, but staring at the floor. "When the Romulans destroyed Vulcan, they murdered nearly six billion of my people. The number is significantly greater than four hundred."

Jim leaned in closer to Bones. "Hey," he whispered. "Vulcans are telepaths, right? But I thought they required physical contact… Can they sense when their people die?" Bones shrugged. He might have been an expert at comparative xenobiology, but that didn't mean he knew anymore about Vulcans than the next guy. He had only been working with Commander Spock for a year or so. However, upon observing the other present Vulcans, and seeing the looks on their faces, he had a bad feeling they experienced much, much more than horror and grief the day they lost their planet. Exactly how much torment, how much agony, did they truly suffer? Bones realized he had no idea, and couldn't begin to relate.

"I imagine we are all still recovering from the shock of it," Ambassador Spock continued. "My own senses remain heightened and extremely sensitive, Dr. McCoy. But perhaps it is for the best. It allowed me to sense you all the way from the colony, and to recognize your unique essence, distinctive from every other Leonard McCoy in every other dimension, along with a few other distinguishing factors we should not discuss here."

"Then you really are from my reality, my future," McCoy said, to which Ambassador Spock nodded. "I am so very sorry. There has to be something I can do." Bones noticed the old doctor's entire countenance changing. He regarded Spock more and more like a friend, like the only person in this reality he could actually depend on. Bones sensed a pair of eyes on him, and, glancing around, caught Commander Spock's gaze. The young Vulcan was watching him curiously, no doubt wondering the same thing. How exactly did the two of them grow so close?

"I am afraid it is too late for your assistance," Ambassador Spock informed McCoy. "However, I must see to it you are returned safely to your proper place aboard your _Enterprise_. I understand you have expressed discomfort at the idea of strangers probing your subconscious, which is only to be expected. The subconscious is, perhaps, the single most personal region of the mind. Yet I see no other way of contacting the alien entity which I hear occupies your subconscious. If you would allow me, Dr. McCoy, I am not a stranger."

McCoy hesitated, and Bones felt nauseated by the very idea. But then McCoy's hesitation melted into a look of trust unlike anything Bones, Jim, and even the other Vulcans had ever seen before. "I suppose there's not much about me you don't already know, Mr. Spock. Just… if there _is _something you don't already know, don't hold it against me… and don't make me relive any unpleasant memories from either of our distant pasts… and don't leave me with a split personality. I don't want to be channeling you for the rest of my life. And don't…"

"Doctor," Ambassador Spock patiently interrupted. "You have nothing to fear." And with those simple words of reassurance, the old Vulcan reached out not one hand, but two, and placed his fingers on either side of the man's face. They both closed their eyes while the sickbay's remaining occupants glanced around at each other in concern.

**ooooooo**

_The moment their minds melded into one, McCoy understood how Spock recognized him. For a long time, they had known each other better than most, and at one time, they had been closer to each other than any human could ever be to another human. McCoy had carried Spock's katra, his very soul, and though it had been returned, imprints had lingered. Spock recognized McCoy because he recognized himself. In a way, the man had been tagged. It was not a fact they could share with their younger counterparts. Such relationships had to be developed on their own, without the influence of alternate realities, but nevertheless, they both hoped the youngsters would one day experience a comparable friendship. They had never realized how fortunate they were._

_Of one mind, they became perfectly aware of each other. McCoy, a man of great passion, who had suffered terrible heartbreak, hurt by his father, hurt by his lovers, hurt by his own guilt, yet never allowing the pain to turn his heart numb. He always defended human emotions, and always criticized Spock for rejecting them, sometimes ruthlessly, not that a Vulcan would ever allow ruthlessness to affect him. McCoy cherished emotion; despite the heartbreak, it was too precious to relinquish. Spock, however, had long since purged himself of great passion. Vulcans were, in many ways, capable of deeper, stronger feelings than humans could comprehend. Such feelings were frightening, and would only lead to personal chaos, anarchy. Without some level of reason, they would lose themselves, they would be nothing but beasts, just as humans, without some level of emotion, would be nothing but machines. By committing himself to logic, Spock could define himself, and by having total control, he achieved true liberty._

_As Spock descended into McCoy's subconscious, where much of his past anguish still remained, untreated, he attempted to conceal his own memories. McCoy must not know of the future, and there was no reason for him to know the details of Nero and Vulcan's destruction. Nevertheless, traces of Spock's loneliness presented themselves. He had been too long in this reality, where no one knew him, where every life could go on without him. Spock had mostly ignored it, suppressing it under all his logic, but now, within his subconscious, it could not be shoved aside. It was worse than Spock had realized; it was suffocating, and McCoy groaned, a tear in his eye._

_Navigating through it, Spock reminded McCoy why they were attempting this. They were seeking information from Anna, who Spock now knew as well as McCoy. A young, Hinternolian woman, she was running from the Exiles, and needed help. Help not only to attain freedom, but to rescue Riley, the man she loved more than life itself. When Spock finally discovered her, she was curled up with her face buried in her knees, surrounded by McCoy's anxieties for Joanna, his daughter. Spock called out to her, but she did not respond. Upon reaching her, he took her head in his hands and held it up. There were tears in her crystal eyes._

_"You are jeopardizing Dr. McCoy," Spock informed her gently. "Speak to me. I will help you."_

_"I can't breathe," she told him. "I'm trapped, and I can't breathe! I don't have any endurance left. I've been trying to tell you, but you can't hear me, because I'm suffocating. Riley!" She pulled her head free and looked around desperately for someone who wasn't there. Spock caught her again and held her still._

_"I can hear you," he assured her. "And you are not suffocating. You are an astral projection hiding in the subconscious of my friend's mind. Wherever you left your physical body, its condition must be stable, or else you would not be here. You would not be strong enough to maintain the link. I believe you are panicking, and have been for some time. I need you to relax. You are safe for now, and I promise to help you."_

_She closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks. After taking several deep breaths, she blinked, and looked up at Spock, desperate, scared, and yet hopeful. "I am trapped on a lower plane of existence. I don't have the endurance to jump back up. Hinternolians are capable of traveling to parallel dimensions, but nothing more. There are superior and inferior dimensions, too, dimensions they cannot reach. Check your library records. From what I can gather in Dr. McCoy's mind, centuries ago, the people of Earth viewed the universe as nine concentric, celestial spheres, each one surpassing the last in perfection. Obviously, they were mistaken. The universe isn't anything at all like that. But there are multiple universes, and some are indeed celestial, surpassing our own in every way imaginable, just as there are infernal ones, which are darker, dangerous, evil… I have seen them, and now my people want to see them too. They can't! Imagine what they would do if they could harness the power of heaven and hell. I can't be responsible for it. I'd rather die."_

_As the girl wept, Spock regarded her thoughtfully. The existence of lower and higher planes could be debated endlessly, but Hinternolians had already mastered interdimensional travel. Logically, this could very well be the next step in their development, which presented him with something of a dilemma. How could he help this girl? And did he even have the right?_

**ooooooo**

**A/N:** I might be taking some creative liberty with this chapter. I don't know. I'm not even sure I care. It's fanfiction. I don't own anything and I'm not hurting anyone. Please review, and let me know what you think. Thanks!


	7. Private Consultations

**ooooooo**

Sitting on the bridge in his captain's chair, Jim Kirk listened absentmindedly to Commander Spock's latest report on the ship's maintenance. _Enterprise_ had fallen into orbit around an outpost several light years from the Vulcan colony, where Scotty could better repair the damage caused by their collision with _Night Stalker_. Everything seemed in order; Scotty promised to have the hull looking as good as new within three days, which roughly translated into twenty-four hours if Jim decided to pressure the man. He knew all too well what a miracle worker his chief engineer could be, if properly motivated. To be perfectly honest, Jim liked it that way; he liked Scotty's attitude. It made them compatible, and their voyages together smooth and exciting.

At that moment, however, Jim's mind was far from his chief engineer and the ship's maintenance. He was too busy thinking about his guests from the future. Ambassador Spock and Dr. McCoy. Talk about one hell of an unlikely friendship. Jim didn't know what to make of it; they must have spent years serving together, it was the only way to explain their camaraderie. But why? And how? The two of them hated each other and had absolutely no common ground, aside from their mutual friendship with Jim… Could that have something to do with it?

Jim shook his head, dismissing Spock once he had finished his report. What he really needed was someone to discuss the whole thing with. The curiosity was killing him. He knew he couldn't talk to either Spock or Bones about it. They were too personally involved. Not only would it be weird, but it would also lose its status as gossip. Jim glanced over his shoulder and considered asking Uhura for her opinion. No, that might not be his best idea; more than likely, she would tell him to stop making everything all about himself.

"Captain!" As if reading his mind, Uhura whirled sharply around in her chair, one hand lingering on her console, the other fingering her earpiece. Jim nearly held up his hands, ready to defend himself, but as it turned out, she was simply more on task than he was, as usual, and dutifully responding to some transmission she had just received. "Admiral Komack is requesting an update on the Hinternolian attack against the Vulcan colony."

"Right," Jim said, turning away from her to hide his relief. He'd much rather deal with an Admiral than an indignant Uhura. "On screen." Within seconds, the familiar face of the prestigious flag officer appeared on the view screen. He didn't look happy, and Jim could tell this would be an interesting consultation. He wasn't the only one. From every corner of the bridge, officers subtly turned their ears, and though they kept their eyes averted, appearing to remain industrious, Jim knew they were eavesdropping.

"Admiral!" Jim greeted Komack brightly. "I'm pleased to report we successfully recovered the three captured Vulcans, all of whom are unharmed. Scorik and T'Ria have both beamed back to the colony, though Ambassador Sarek has opted to remain onboard to assist Ambassador Spock. Along with the Vulcans, we managed to rescue an old man we believe to be from an alternate future timeline. I am hesitant to discuss him on an open channel, but suffice it to say Ambassador Sarek believes he is of considerable interest to the Hinternolian Exiles, and their Captain Broase will be eager to recapture him. _Enterprise _can expect _Night Stalker _to attack at any moment, and would appreciate reinforcements. We did do damage to their ship during the rescue operation, but following Ambassador Sarek's advice, we did not attempt to capture her. The Hinternolians are interdimensional time travelers, not to mention impulsive, and could potentially be more dangerous than we might expect. It's doubtful we can beat them in a conventional face-to-face confrontation, so we're currently working on strategies to outsmart them, possibly using the old man as bait."

"I assume this man you rescued had something to do with motivating the Hinternolians to attack the Vulcan colony," Komack observed. "You make it sound like he is more important to this Captain Broase than the Vulcans themselves. I require more information than you are willing to divulge, captain, but since it is your prerogative not to transmit it, I will have Commodore Ronald Mace rendezvous with _Enterprise_. He will command the _U.S.S. Stallion_, the _U.S.S. Patton_, the _U.S.S. Brazen_, and the _U.S.S. Vicksburg_. Commodore Mace is a friend of mine, captain, and I trust his judgment. You will explain to him the identity of this man, and why Broase wants him back. You will explain what the Hinternolians hoped to gain by attacking the colony and kidnapping three Vulcans. Abducting an ambassador may easily be considered an act of war, and with your cooperation, Mace will coordinate a plan of attack so that if and when the Hinternolians choose to retaliate, they will be apprehended."

"Yes, sir," Jim replied, groaning inwardly. He didn't know Commodore Mace personally, just by reputation, various reputations, many of which seemed contradictory. On the one hand, he was Komack's friend and a capable leader who followed every regulation to the letter. On the other hand, he was ruthless, unforgiving, arrogant, and power-hungry. Not to mention he was famous for his sense of humor… or complete lack thereof. The man couldn't take a joke; apparently, he was serious to a fault, more so than even Spock! Hell, if he ever found out about Scotty's so-called miracle work, he'd probably court-martial the engineer. Talk about incompatibility. Where was Pike when you needed him? "When can we expect his arrival?"

"I will have him briefed immediately, and he will decide on the rendezvous point. I will keep you informed, captain. Komack out." With that, the image on the view screen disintegrated, leaving Jim to gaze at the outpost. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, wondering what to do about Mace.

**ooooooo**

Several hours later, Jim found himself hastening through the busy corridors of _Enterprise_, making his way to the VIP stateroom he had assigned for Dr. McCoy. He couldn't stand it anymore; the curiosity was killing him. Now that he had made all the necessary arrangements for Mace's arrival, the man had agreed to meet them at their present location orbiting the outpost no later than stardate 2259.229, Jim didn't have anything else to distract him, especially with Spock assisting Scotty, and Bones conducting a surprise inspection of the outpost's medical facilities.

The VIP staterooms were larger and more luxurious than regular crew quarters, but still considered insufficient by the majority of their occupants. Ambassadors and other high-ranking Starfleet officers normally had the courtesy to accept whatever comforts _Enterprise_ had available, minimal though they undoubtedly were, but when it came to civilians, politicians, and esteemed patrons of any kind, people who were accustomed to extravagance, Jim always expected a complaint or two. Fortunately, that wasn't the case with Dr. McCoy. As Jim reached the stateroom and stepped inside, noting the expensive carpet, upholstered furniture, polished mahogany table, with its untouched bowl of soup, and numerous other decorations all arranged in the latest style, giving the room a snug, if not cramped, atmosphere, he reminded himself that with all the daily concerns constantly beleaguering the Bones he knew, luxury had never been a major issue, so it really wouldn't be that much of a surprise if Dr. McCoy didn't care about it either.

The old man sat hunched over a computer monitor, but when he perceived Jim, he glanced around wearily. "Well, well, well, I might have known you'd show up sooner or later. Come on in. I'll pour you a drink." As McCoy set about locating another glass, Jim glanced quickly at the monitor, but it only displayed a roster of _Enterprise's_ current crewmembers. Hardly stimulating. It didn't even give access to their personal files, but then again, for a man from the future, perhaps the simple list was more than adequate.

"I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you have everything you need," Jim said, accepting both the chair and glass of brandy McCoy offered. Technically, he was still on duty and shouldn't be drinking, so once the doctor was seated comfortably across from him, he gently set the glass on the table and leaned forward, completely engaged. "I'm sure in the future, _Enterprise _can boast having much fancier accommodations, but this is the best I could do on short notice. I trust it's satisfactory."

McCoy harrumphed. "To be frank, Jim, I don't give a damn about the room. My only complaint is that it's not nearly as close to sickbay as I'd like, but that's immaterial. I'm not the chief medical officer onboard this ship, and now that I'm more or less cleared for duty, I don't have any reason to be down there. God knows I'd only end up trying to fix everything. You have any idea what sort of medical advancements we've made in the last thirty years? I've been looking at names of people I served with, people I cared for, and some of them…" McCoy trailed off, shaking his head in frustration. He took another sip and continued. "With advanced warning and the right equipment, I could improve the quality of countless lives. I could save even more. But that, my friend, would be temporally irresponsible."

"Really?" Jim asked, wondering which members of his crew were at risk. "Your pal Spock gave Scotty the equation for transwarp beaming. We agreed changing history like that was cheating, but temporally irresponsible?"

At the very least, Jim's offhanded remark managed to lighten the poor old man's mood, and McCoy smiled. "Don't tempt me, Jim. Time's a tricky thing, and I'm not going to pretend to understand it. I'm a doctor, after all, not a Vulcan science officer."

"Maybe," Jim allowed, finally spotting a way to direct their conversation. "But speaking of Vulcan science officers, there is one in particular you certainly get along with, isn't there?" So it wasn't subtle, and it wasn't gossip. Unfortunately, a direct approach was the best he could do, and in the long run, it would probably be more useful, efficient, and practical, if not as entertaining.

McCoy knowingly nodded his head, and when he spoke next, he chose his words carefully. "I can't deny Spock and I have been through a lot together. But what do you expect when two men are both senior officers aboard the same ship for an extended length of time? Look, if I seemed particularly relieved to have his company down in sickbay, it was only because I've been trapped in an alternate reality for god knows how long. You don't know what it's like, Jim, being surrounded by such familiar strangers. It was a pleasant surprise finding someone who genuinely knows me, even if that someone happens to be Spock. Don't think I didn't notice how astonished everyone was to see the two of us treating each other civilly. It was only because I realized I wasn't alone anymore. There's nothing worse than being alone. The truth is, while Spock and I have learned to play nice when we're forced to work together, on a good day we still can't stand each other."

"I think you're lying," Jim told him with a smile. "I think, if you're anything at all like the Bones I know, you wouldn't let anyone anywhere near your subconscious unless you completely and utterly trusted him. And that requires a hell of a lot more than the ability to play nice, despite hating each other. You two are pretty close, but you're denying it because, A, you're too stubborn to realize it, or, B, you don't want your friendship impacting the Spock and Bones from this reality."

"Well, in that case, I have no comment," McCoy replied, still nodding his head slowly and carefully. He drank more of his brandy, and for awhile, the two sat in silence. It was strange, but comfortable and familiar. Jim might have been a troublemaker at the Academy, but he didn't party every night. Occasionally, he and Bones would stay in, drink whatever illegal drinks they had gotten their hands on, and drown their troubles. This old man wasn't Bones; he wasn't young enough, and in a mystifying, inexplicable way, he wasn't innocent enough. Jim would be the last person to call Bones innocent, but this older Dr. McCoy had been through so much more, and just looked tired. Extremely tired. Still, sitting with him now felt right… Spock would call it illogical, and it was no doubt what made parallel universes so damn confusing, but it still _felt _right.

"I suppose, since you never asked for reassignment, despite your… unfavorable opinion of Mr. Spock, that you and the James T. Kirk from your reality were relatively close friends." It was the only logical explanation for his feelings of security. Jim wasn't Bones; he didn't mind searching for logical explanations. He hastened to add, "It's all right, your answer won't impact my friendship with Bones," when he noticed the reservation on Dr. McCoy's face. "We've pretty much been inseparable since the day we met aboard the Academy's recruit shuttle."

"You two went to the Academy together?" McCoy whistled, evidently surprised, much to Jim's disappointment. He glanced down, wondering why it bothered him so much to contemplate a reality where he and Bones hadn't been best friends from the get-go. Probably because their realities were so strongly related. This reality wouldn't even exist if Nero hadn't changed the past. Every time Jim discovered a new deviation from the original timeline, he remembered how much of a mistake his life was, and how much better it should have been.

McCoy must have noticed Jim's mood change. He sighed, and decided to answer the question. "Yes. Jim and I are extremely close friends. We might not have attended school together, but even so, the man's practically the only family I've got left. And let me tell you something, it's nice to think that we'd still be friends even if something drastic altered history." Jim glanced back up at McCoy, and the man winked. It was his attempt to cheer up the young captain, but it wasn't enough.

"Tell me about him."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me about the Captain James T. Kirk from your reality," Jim said adamantly, thinking back to that day on the _Narada_, and Nero's words. "He was 'considered to be a great man… but that was another life.' A life I still might not have. His father didn't die aboard the _Kelvin_. He was actually inspired to join Starfleet, and wasn't just talked into it. Vulcan wasn't destroyed, so he somehow managed to befriend Spock without having to emotionally compromise him first. From the sound of it, everything fell perfectly into place for him. It all sounds so perfect."

"You're jealous of him," McCoy noticed. He didn't sound surprised or critical, just perceptive, and Jim shrugged, not knowing how to respond. "You're putting me in a fairly difficult position, boy. I could describe every single one of Jim's achievements, but that would only make you bitter and insecure. Or, I could assure you that no one's life, no matter how prestigious, is completely perfect, least of all Jim Kirk's. God knows he's suffered as much as you have, and even more besides. He is older, after all. But if I told you that, you'd still be insecure, possibly depressed, and afraid of what the future holds."

"At least he knew his father," Jim grumbled. "At least he didn't spend his childhood stuck in Iowa, half neglected and half abused by his son-of-a-bitch stepfather."

"No, but he did spend some time stuck on planet called Tarsus IV during a particularly devastating food crisis. Maybe you've heard of it. He was only thirteen at the time." Jim stared at McCoy in horror. Of course he had heard of it. He had read about the crisis at the Academy. Over four thousand of the eight thousand colonists had been massacred by the governor, who believed that the weak and inferior should be killed so the strong and superior might have a chance to survive. Otherwise, the governor believed they _all_ would have starved. Little did he know at the time, relief had been well on its way, and the massacre had been for nothing. It was human eugenics at its worst, and a lesson why no one should ever play god. To think that in an alternate reality Jimhad actually been present during such a nightmare…

"A man's life is shaped by his experiences, and you've both had remarkably different experiences," McCoy said gently. "You shouldn't compare yourself to the Jim Kirk from an alternate reality. It's like playing a giant game of 'what if.' It'll only hold you back. But if you find you must, just remember you've both seen your fair share of destruction, and you've both managed to cope with it. I know you've achieved great things, Jim. There were a lot of memories Spock tried concealing from me during that mind meld down in sickbay, but he couldn't hide how you helped defeat a merciless Romulan who had every feasible advantage over you, who had technology from the future at his fingertips. My Jim didn't have to contend with something that difficult, that demanding, at your age, and certainly not with success. You've got everything you need, Jim. You've got your intuition, your courage, your integrity, and your friends. You don't have a single shortcoming next to him, and I hope you remember that."

Jim smiled weakly. "You know, there aren't very many people I'd take seriously after a lecture like this. But you just might be one of the few."

"Damn right," McCoy said, chuckling. "Just don't tell Spock we had this conversation. I may have revealed more about my Jim's past than I should have, and god forbid I be accused of temporal irresponsibility."

"Where is Spock, anyway?" Jim asked, glancing around the room for the absent ambassador. "I didn't think anyone would be able to separate the two of you, especially not this quickly." McCoy raised an eyebrow in a very Spock like manner, and Jim rolled his eyes. "I know you're trying to convince me you and Spock can't tolerate each other, but I'm still not buying it, and I'm not going to buy it, and since you just complimented me on my intuition, I think it's about time you started being honest with me."

McCoy laughed and raised a glass to the young captain. "Oh, very well. Spock's on his ship, meditating. Something about the natural course of Hinternolian development has him questioning his principles. He wants to help Anna, but he also wants a solution that's in the Hinternolian people's best interest. You know Spock. Everything's always got to be nice and logical."

Jim smirked. "No. Not always."

**ooooooo**

Everything about the outpost's medical facilities appeared perfectly in order, a fact that irritated Bones to no end. The supply rooms were fully stocked, the equipment up to date, and the sanitation unquestionable. The staff followed every regulation, met every standard, and conducted themselves with flawless efficiency. Nothing was put to waste, biohazards were properly disposed, and according to the patients' ratings, reviews, and evaluations, the doctors and nurses were all dependable and compassionate. Not even their bedside manners could be criticized.

As the chief medical officer of a starship, Bones had every right to conduct surprise inspections of Starfleet outposts. Supposedly, it provided the outposts' medical staff additional incentive to keep their facilities immaculate, and apparently, it worked. Bones glanced around the laboratory in disgust; under normal circumstances, he would be pleased to find such a commendable facility in the midst of space, but his day had been far from normal, and he was still struggling to come to terms with it.

"He called my sickbay 'primitive!'" Bones could no longer contain his frustration, and consequently turned on Dr. Michaels, who had been waiting patiently and confidently for his final assessment. "He called my dermal regenerator 'clumsy,' and the rest of my equipment 'outdated junk.' Who the hell does he think he is?" Bones had beamed down to the outpost in the hopes of finding a means to distract himself from… well, from himself! Instead, he found himself competing against poor Dr. Michaels, who didn't have the slightest idea why, and who certainly didn't deserve it, and the worst part was it didn't distract him whatsoever. It only agitated him further.

"Dr. McCoy." The calm, steady, lyrical voice addressing him did not belong to Dr. Michaels, and cringing, Bones slowly turned to discover none other than Commander Spock standing in the wide threshold of the laboratory. "I acknowledge your entitlement to inspect these facilities, but if your present motivation derives from an illogical desire to condemn Dr. Michaels so that, by comparison, you might demonstrate the quality and merits of _Enterprise's _sickbay, and thereby discredit the affronts made by a certain doctor, I fear it is my duty to protest."

"What kind of man do you think I am, Spock?" Bones glared at him resentfully. "I'm not going to punish Dr. Michaels for having flawless medical facilities." He glanced sideways at Dr. Michaels. "You can rest assured Starfleet will receive a dazzling report. You're doing a good job out here. Keep it up."

"Thank you, sir."

Bones nodded and looked back at Spock. "Satisfied?" The damn Vulcan barely inclined his head, looking unconvinced, but willing to let it slide for the moment. Bones suppressed a groan. "What the devil are you doing down here, Spock? None of this is any of your business. You're a science officer, not a doctor, and you're supposed to be assisting Scotty. Besides, in case you hadn't noticed, this isn't _Enterprise_. You don't have the authorization to be roaming around these particular facilities." The truth was, he had come down here to escape from _Enterprise_, and Spock was without a doubt the last person he wanted to see right now… aside from himself, that was.

"I believed it might be prudent to address some of your obvious concerns. Doctor," Spock turned his attention over to Michaels. "If you please would excuse us." With that, the young commander turned to leave, fully expecting Bones to accompany him. Well, he was in for one hell of a surprise.

"If you think I'm going anywhere with you, you're sadly mistaken."

Spock stopped short and looked back at Bones with a quizzical expression. "I fail to understand why you insist on making trivial matters so difficult." Bones repositioned his weight, crossed his arms, and regarded Spock stubbornly. He wasn't going anywhere.

After a tense silence, during which Spock and Bones frowned at each other, the former determined, and the latter defiant, Dr. Michaels resolved the issue. "You know what? I think I'm going to sneak up to my office and try getting some of that paperwork done." He glanced from Spock, who acknowledged him with a grateful nod, to Bones, who stared back at him in openmouthed horror. "Thank you again, sir, and, um…" He smiled sympathetically. "Good luck." With that, he scurried out of the laboratory, no doubt anxious to escape the line of fire. Ultimately, Bones couldn't blame him. Only a lunatic would want to witness the hostilities between two senior officers of an infamous starship.

"Now look what you've done," Bones snapped, feeling painfully alone and cornered by the emotionless Vulcan. "You chased the poor man out of his own lab!"

"On the contrary, doctor," Spock replied, unruffled. "Considering you are the one who refused to leave, you are the one who left him with no other choice but to depart himself."

Bones felt the situation spinning entirely out of his control. Damn Vulcans. "Listen, Spock. I don't need you 'addressing' any of my 'obvious concerns.' I'm fine. It might not have bothered you encountering some future Spock from an alternate reality, but not all of us have mastered our emotions. So yes, I was a little disoriented to discover the man's identity at first, but that's ancient history now. He's been discharged. He's not my problem anymore. The only thing I need is to forget any of this ever happened and get on with my life."

"Unfortunately, I strongly doubt you have the capacity to meet such a need, doctor," Spock told him bluntly. "Were you not just now taking considerable offense at the other Dr. McCoy's treatment of your sickbay? If you were merely suffering indignation, I might accept your behavior, for in the short time we have served together, it has been made clear to me you have a tendency to overreact. Logically, however, indignation cannot be the root of the problem. Even you must have the intelligence and imagination to envision the advancements our medical researchers will make in the next twenty to thirty years. If the other Dr. McCoy called your sickbay primitive, then it no doubt is, and a reasonable man might find such a declaration reassuring. It indicates significant medical development, which you should look forward to and eagerly anticipate. No. I believe something else troubles you, doctor. Your indignation is merely a symptom, and while I can both easily and accurately speculate the source of your distress, it would be more beneficial for you to discuss it."

At the back of his mind, a voice assured Bones that Spock was demonstrating genuine concern, but he ignored it. For all he knew, the damn Vulcan was suffering the same distress, but couldn't openly acknowledge it, and was therefore attempting to save face by focusing on someone else's woes. Bastard. Why couldn't he just admit he had feelings too, and the incident up in sickbay disturbed him as much as it disturbed Bones? And why the hell did he have to be so damn patronizing?

"You want to know what my problem is, Spock?" Bones demanded furiously. "My problem is that nothing, absolutely nothing, we witnessed between our two counterparts makes any god damned sense. Whatsoever! It was illogical, Spock. So illogical it makes my head want to explode. Because you and I could never, _never_ be friends."

With a furrowed brow, Spock tilted his head, looking baffled, but not in the least bit hurt by such a harsh, cruel outburst. Big surprise. The damn Vulcan was completely immune to verbal abuse, wasn't he? "Doctor," he tentatively began after silently contemplating the situation. He never got the chance to finish.

The sound of a phaser blasted over Spock's voice, interrupting whatever speech he had planned. The Vulcan immediately seized up, his eyes widening, and his mouth falling open.

"Spock?" Bones whispered, anger turning to concern, and concern turning to fear. Terror. When Spock collapsed, Bones rushed forward to catch him, but the Vulcan's weight dragged him down to his knees. Cradling Spock in his arms, Bones looked up to discover an enormous man with a tattooed face and blue hair, wearing a long black leather coat, and holding out his arm, phaser in hand, still aimed at the spot where his latest victim had been standing. Bones gasped. The man fit the description of a Hinternolian Exile! Spock had just been shot by a Hinternolian Exile!

Before Bones could figure out how to react, three more Exiles marched into the laboratory and closed in around him, their phasers aimed.

"Don't look so distraught," the Exile who shot Spock suggested, sneering as he lowered his weapon. "Your friend isn't dead. You see, I've learned to respect Vulcans. They're more dangerous than I anticipated. Stunning him was just a precaution, one that's hardly necessary in your case."

"You're Captain Broase," Bones guessed, unable to keep his body from trembling.

"That I am," the Exile said, nodding in approval. "And you are Dr. Leonard McCoy. Granted, you're not nearly as valuable as the one I'm after, but I suppose you'll have to do for now. At the very least, you and your Vulcan friend can offer compensation for what I've lost." He glanced at one of his compatriots. "Take them. The _Enterprise _will soon learn she's not the only ship capable of transwarp beaming."

Bones clenched his teeth. He'd be damned before he let these bastards disregard him as unthreatening. With Broase's men approaching him, he reached for his medkit and grabbed the first equipped, available hypospray. If he could just incapacitate one of them, he might be able to slip through their ranks and find a more effective weapon elsewhere in the lab. He didn't have any delusions of grandeur, he knew he couldn't escape, but that wouldn't prevent him from fighting back. He would much rather be taken stunned, like Spock… less pathetic that way.

He wasn't quick enough, or stealthy enough. An Exile anticipated him, and kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over, and the other two guards caught each of his arms. Bones shouted, struggling to break free and slam the hypo into someone's neck, but they didn't let him. Grinning fiendishly, Broase stepped forward and backhanded him with the strength of a damn Klingon.

Dazed, Bones could feel the blood running down his cheek. After that, the Exiles easily confiscated the hypo, and proceeded to cuff his hands behind his back. He dimly recalled healing the damage done by a similar pair of cuffs to the other Dr. McCoy's wrists back in sickbay, and wondered if his arms would be released anytime soon. Probably not. Damn it.

"I wouldn't recommend trying something like that again," Broase casually warned Bones, as one of the three guards collected Spock's unconscious body. "You just might hurt yourself."

"Well, then it's a good thing I'm a doctor."

Broase smirked and backhanded Bones a second time, more savagely than before. "You know, I think I'm really going to enjoy this."

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait. As you can see, this chapter is longer than most, and took longer to write. I hope that warrants more reviews! Especially since I have a question. How much whumpage, if any? Thanks!


	8. Hostages

**ooooooo**

"Anyone know when Bones will be getting back?" Jim darted into sickbay, restless, impatient, and preoccupied. The stardate was 2259.228, and Commodore Ronald Mace's four ships were already falling into orbit around the outpost. While Admiral Komack had promised the rendezvous would be no later than tomorrow, Jim had not expected them to arrive so soon, or so suddenly. Mace intended to beam over to _Enterprise _and begin strategizing without delay, which would have been greatly appreciated, considering the threat _Night Stalker _posed, but Jim had hoped to consult with Ambassador Spock first, to find out what he knew about the commodore. Now it didn't look like he'd get that chance.

The sickbay was flooded with nurses and junior officers going about their duties, tending to the equipment, lab reports, and one or two patients undergoing standard examinations. Nothing serious. Word had gotten out that a commodore was coming aboard, and with Bones down on the outpost conducting surprise inspections, everyone, including the medical staff, wanted to prove they were up to par. Their enthusiasm warranted commendation, especially from their captain, but Jim was too distracted. This would be his first major joint operation, and he didn't even know if he could trust his impending partner. He'd feel much better with Bones at his side.

"Chapel!" Jim snapped when he spotted the young nurse walking out of the doctor's office, a PADD in her arms. She stopped short and glanced around, searching for her supplicant with a slight frown, forcing Jim to scramble forward. When she finally spotted him, she took a deep breath and waited expectantly. Jim had a feeling she knew exactly what he wanted. "Tell me you know when Bones will be back. He's been down on there for hours."

"I'm sorry, captain," she said, grimacing. Jim could tell she sympathized, but was helpless to assist him. "A medical inspection can take as long as the examiner deems necessary, and you and I both know how thorough Dr. McCoy can be, especially when he's trying to take his mind off something else." At that point, Chapel carefully took in their surroundings, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before continuing in a lowered voice. "I'm sure you noticed how he responded to that other Leonard McCoy's presence. The whole thing left him very disconcerted, sir, and I doubt he'll be back anytime soon, unless there's a medical emergency or you decide it's time to depart."

Jim groaned, closing his eyes in frustration. _Enterprise_ wasn't scheduled to depart until well after the conference with Commodore Mace, and medical emergencies were never ever intended. But then again… what Bones didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "Thank you, Nurse Chapel. Carry on." The woman nodded gratefully and turned her attention back to her PADD, walking off quickly. Jim thought for a moment and then marched over to the intercom on the wall. "Kirk to bridge."

"Uhura here."

"Uhura, I want you to get in touch with Dr. McCoy. Tell him we've got a crisis on our hands, and I need him beamed up immediately. Captain's orders." Jim probably shouldn't have added that final command. Too much emphasis. Uhura knew him well enough from their Academy days, back when he had constantly propositioned her, not to mention from their numerous assignments since then on the _Enterprise_ together, to distinguish between his moments of selfishness and rationality. Summoning Bones from an important medical inspection to deal with a fake crisis certainly fell under selfishness, and Uhura hesitated.

"Could you please clarify the nature of this crisis, captain?"

Obviously, she had been spending more time with Spock. The two of them were both highly proficient at determining his true motives and voicing their opinions, even their disapproval, without seeming insubordinate. Jim recognized her tone, and knew it was pointless lying to her. She was, after all, _Enterprise's _communications officer. If the ship really was suffering a major medical emergency, she would have heard something about it before now. "Fine," he said acidly. "We're about to welcome a considerably prestigious Starfleet officer onto _Enterprise_, and I need Bones for it. I don't care what you have to tell him, Uhura, just get him back up here."

Jim could hear her laughing quietly to herself. "I'll see what I can do, sir. And speaking of Commodore Mace, he's estimated to arrive in the transporter room within the next five minutes."

Great. "Thank you, Uhura," Jim said stiffly. "Kirk out." He turned on his heel and made his way to the closest turbolift.

**ooooooo**

From her station at the communications console, Nyota Uhura had a clear view of the entire bridge, at least when her back wasn't turned. Therefore, she could clearly see each of her fellow officers, and they were all smiling, particularly Hikaru Sulu, who glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze in equal amusement. Their present situation might have been drastic, the last time they had been up against time travelers, Vulcan had been destroyed, and Earth nearly along with it, but that only meant they needed to keep up their morale. And what better way than for Uhura to match wits with the captain?

They all had faith in Kirk. They all believed he could handle just about anything, even superior officers. Uhura wasn't the only one on the bridge who had seen him, on numerous occasions, frustrate his antagonists, be they domestic or alien. She seriously doubted Mace would present anything more than a challenge to him, which made his dependency on Dr. McCoy purely supplemental, and, as Spock would say, illogical. Uhura could easily imagine how Bones would react to the inconvenience of being called away from work just because the captain desired a reassuring presence, and the thought made her smile.

Looking back at her console, Uhura set about contacting the grumpy, aviophobic doctor. She transmitted the subspace frequency that would instantly reach his personal communicator, and waited for him to receive it. Meanwhile, she absently listened to the transmissions coming from the _U.S.S. Stallion_. Commodore Mace would be arriving very soon.

"It's about time, Lieutenant." The voice that sounded over the speaker on Uhura's console did not belong to Leonard McCoy. It was much too menacing, and Uhura caught her breath, suddenly feeling inexplicably cold. Glancing around the bridge in alarm, she caught the attention of Sulu, Pavel Chekov, and several other officers, some of whom approached her in concern. The voice continued, "I've been most eagerly awaiting your transmission. I suppose contacting you myself would have been a simple matter, but I'm in no rush, and I didn't want to disturb anyone with an untimely message."

Acting purely out of instinct, Uhura switched on _Enterprise's _intercom. "Captain Kirk, report to the bridge at once." She had no idea if this warranted Kirk's attention, but she didn't want to risk it. Looking back at the speaker, a speaker she now considered highly disagreeable, she summoned all the discipline she could muster, and managed to speak with a steady voice. "Who is this? Where is Dr. McCoy?" Remembering herself, Uhura pressed a few more switches on her console, attempting to isolate the communicator's frequency and home in on the transmission's point of origin.

"I am Broase," the voice replied smugly. "Captain of the _Night Stalker_." A hand reached out and touched Uhura's shoulder. She flinched, but upon looking up, found it was only Sulu trying to comfort her. She hated herself for needing it, but she lacked the experience needed to confront an enemy like this, and it scared her. She wasn't the damn captain. She couldn't bear to imagine anything happening to Dr. McCoy. Listening to Broase's voice made her want to smash something. "Your chief medical officer is currently unavailable. My men are showing him his new accommodations. Granted, he won't be as comfortable as he is on _Enterprise_, but it won't surprise you to learn I don't specialize in comfort. At the very least he won't be alone. I'm sure the Vulcan will provide him all the company in the world. That is, once he regains consciousness."

_Vulcan? Oh, no…_ Heart pounding, Uhura frantically transmitted a second subspace frequency, this time to contact Spock. "Please, oh god, Spock, please. Spock, come in! Come in!" Her console alerted her the moment Spock's communicator received the transmission. She covered her mouth, praying for the chief science officer to respond.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Broase's voice came in over Spock's communicator. Uhura fell back in her chair, utterly speechless. _Spock…_ "Perhaps now that I've answered some of your questions, you might be kind enough to answer some of mine. What is your name, Lieutenant? You have a positively alluring voice. Makes me thirsty."

Uhura was spared having to answer by the arrival of Captain Kirk. He stepped out of the turbolift and immediately looked over at the communications console, where a small crowd of his bridge officers had gathered. "This better be important. I was on my way to welcome Commodore Mace in the transporter room…" He trailed off when his men jumped to attention, allowing him to better perceive their distress. "Uhura?"

Collecting herself, Uhura rose from her chair and spun to face the captain. "It's Broase, from the _Night Stalker_, sir. He's in possession of both Dr. McCoy and Commander Spock's communicators." Seeing the color drain out of Kirk's face did absolutely nothing for her nerves.

"Correction," Broase's voice cut into the subsequent silence. "I am in possession of much, much more than their pathetic communicators." Kirk's jaw tightened as a light on Uhura's console turned green. She glanced down at it, and realized her computer had successfully pinpointed the exact location of the incoming transmission's origin. Leaning towards the monitor, she read the coordinates.

"Captain," she said, sitting back in her chair. "I have _Night Stalker's _position. She's traveling quickly, on course for the Laurentian System. I could attempt a visual hail, and try to get Broase on the viewscreen."

"Do it," Kirk demanded. Uhura set to work without a moment's hesitation, while the captain regarded the officers at her side. "Get back to your posts." Uhura felt Sulu's gaze lingering in her direction, but didn't acknowledge him, and seconds later he was racing to the helm. She didn't need his concern right now. He knew how much Spock meant to her, and he knew how devastated she would be if anything happened to him. He was worried about her, and she didn't need it. She had to remain in control. This wasn't the first time Spock had been in danger, and Uhura was certain she could contain her emotions, as she had in the past, but if Sulu tried comforting her now, she didn't know how she would respond.

"I will gladly answer your hails," Broase said, and it was impossible to tell whether his voice came from the communicators or the viewscreen or both. Turning, Uhura caught sight of the frightening image of a large Hinternolian with a tattooed face standing on the bridge of the _Night Stalker_. He was surrounded by numerous officers, if they could even be called officers, and not just vicious thugs. "You must be Captain Kirk. I'm delighted. You know, you have quite an attractive communications officer. What did you say her name was?"

"Couldn't tell you," Kirk replied, much to Uhura's relief. "I've been asking her that question for years, but she's just very private about her name." He looked back at her, and she could see the protectiveness on his face. Suddenly, she realized she could breathe again. "Contact the transporter room," he told her quietly. "Have them beam up Scotty and anyone else on the outpost. They're not safe." Uhura nodded, but as she did so, she continued listening to the unfolding confrontation.

"You should know I have four starships ready to assist me if you attempt to attack _Enterprise_," Kirk informed the Hinternolian. "Now, you've already underestimated us once. Ambassador Sarek described in great detail how shocked you were to learn we had advanced far enough to master transwarp beaming. Well, let me tell you something, Broase, we're capable of a lot more. A hell of a lot more. Transwarp beaming is child's play. I've been told Hinternolian Exiles are little more than pirates. You're impulsive, dishonorable, and uncompromising. But right now you can't afford those qualities, can you? I have someone you need… alive. And you're not going to risk trying to take him from me, because you literally have no idea what you're up against. You're scared of us, as well you should be."

"Scared is too strong a term, Captain Kirk," Broase said. "I cannot deny the past few days have taught me the merits of caution, but while I may be wary of _Enterprise_, I am certainly not scared, especially now that I've acquired some hostages. You have someone I need. Well, now I have two people you need. And I promise it won't end with them. I will haunt you for as long as it takes, Captain Kirk. Rest assured, you cannot protect your crew forever, and when you all least expect it, I will take them, one at a time if necessary, until you have no one left. Your precious communications officer? I'll have her, too, and believe me, it will be a pleasure getting to know her name, and everything else about her. Unless you return my prisoner, I will make the lives of everyone on _Enterprise _a living hell, especially yours, captain. I can be a very patient man, and I doubt you'll manage to so much as test that patience before you realize you cannot afford to resist me."

"I think you'd be amazed at how well I can protect my crew," Kirk stated calmly, not the least bit fazed. Having relayed his message to the transporter room, Uhura spun her chair around and watched anxiously. Looking at Kirk now, she remembered the first time they ever met. That night at the bar. Even then, he hadn't believed in no-win situations. Hopefully, this would have a better ending. "I can restrict every single one of them to the ship indefinitely. You'll never have another opportunity to ambush them again. But you're right. That doesn't help the two hostages you _claim_ to have already captured. I'm sure you can appreciate my reluctance to believe such a claim. If you want to convince me you're not just a miserable, murdering thief, you're going to have to do better than flaunt Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy's communicators. If you really have them, and if they're still alive, let me talk to them. Otherwise, you can just forget about getting back your old prisoner."

On the viewscreen, Broase smiled. "Very well. I will send for Dr. McCoy, and he can verify the Vulcan's presence for you. You'll forgive me if I don't trust your Commander Spock to behave himself. He will have to remain confined to the brig to ensure everyone's safety. Particularly his own. But in return, I would like to address the Dr. McCoy aboard your vessel. I have much to say to him, and before you object, remember this, Captain Kirk. I have two prisoners, while you only have the one. That makes either the Vulcan or the young doctor, whichever I decide, rather expendable. Should you choose to make this more difficult than it need be, one of them will suffer for it."

Uhura had never seen Kirk's back more rigid. He was angry. Utterly furious. Yet somehow he managed to keep a level head. "I'll have my communications officer reopen this channel in fifteen minutes. That should give you ample time to send for Dr. McCoy." Without waiting for a response, Kirk glanced over at Uhura. "Close the channel." She nodded and turned back to her console, wiping Broase's face off the viewscreen by pressing a single button. Then, for good measure, she terminated the transmissions to Spock and McCoy's communicators. Doing so left her with a slightly sore stomach; she felt like she had just cut both men off from the _Enterprise_, leaving them stranded permanently on the _Night Stalker_. They had no way back.

At that moment, the doors to the turbolift swept open. What now? Uhura looked up in time to witness a tall, broad shouldered man dressed in a gold command uniform with the rank insignia of a commodore striding onto the bridge. The lines of his square face suggested he was around Admiral Pike's age, though he had very little gray in his short blonde hair. His blue eyes were like ice, and as he approached Kirk, who stared back at him with a steely expression of his own, five security officers stepped off the turbolift after him. Uhura didn't recognize any of them, and highly doubted they were assigned to _Enterprise_. What was this, an invasion? When the commodore spoke, his voice was soft and composed, but somehow dangerous. "Captain Kirk. I certainly hope I'm welcome here. I expected you to greet me in the transporter room, but if you're preoccupied with some other affair, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

Kirk hesitated, and Uhura knew all too well the look on his face. He was considering how much insolence he could get away with. Probably not much… unfortunately. "I'm sorry, commodore. I was called to the bridge when my communications officer made contact with Captain Broase. He has two of my men. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone I need to get up here before we start negotiating."

If possible, Commodore Mace's already black mood darkened. "Negotiating?"

**ooooooo**

When Ambassador Spock and Sarek finally emerged from the _Stalwart_ where they had spent a considerable length of time both meditating and deliberating over Vulcan principles, they found Dr. McCoy waiting in the shuttlebay. He seemed to be combating boredom by examining the craft with genuine interest, much to the envy of _Enterprise's _present engineers, none of whom were authorized anywhere within ten meters of her.

"You know, I might not have Scotty's expertise," McCoy said when he perceived the two old diplomats approaching him. "But even I can spot a shuttle that's out of time. This lady belongs in the future, Spock. Just like us." He glanced around and met his friend's gaze, wearing a small half smile. "A reminder of home, I take it?"

"You think so?" Spock asked, holding his hands behind his back. "But doctor, that would suggest yearning for a place in time and space that remains entirely out of reach, and I do not yearn. Requiring a 'reminder of home,' as you put it, would be at once sentimental and illogical. You should know better than any other human how absurd it would be for a Vulcan to demonstrate such qualities. No, _Stalwart _is merely a project to help maintain my mental discipline in these less advanced environments."

"There's nothing illogical about cherishing your past, Spock," McCoy objected, sounding indignant. "Surely even you can understand the value of a keepsake. It can sharpen your memory, clear your focus, and remind you not only where you come from, but who you are. They're like anchors to the soul, Spock!"

"Vulcans do not depend on tangible items to sustain intangible faculties like memory, identity, or even the soul, Dr. McCoy. Our minds are more than sufficient for such preservation." Spock waited, but McCoy chose not to pursue the matter. Instead, he sighed deeply, rolled his eyes, and shook his head. They both knew they could argue for hours, but given the present situation, and with Sarek watching in open fascination, it would not have been prudent.

"Anyway, I came down here to ask about Anna, and see what you've decided," McCoy said, abruptly changing subjects. Spock forced himself to remain impassive, but he couldn't help closing his eyes. Not only was he reluctant to discuss the issue with his friend, but he was also reluctant to conclude the matter of keepsakes. While he had no need of tangible items to remind him of home, he could not deny the value of engaging with someone to experience home.

It had been twenty-four years since Spock had last seen the Leonard McCoy he remembered, and the doctor had been an old man. One hundred and thirty seven. Thin. Frail. Tired and lonely. Seeing him now, here, sixty years younger and as lively as ever, Spock felt curiously nostalgic. He really did miss his home, his place, on _Enterprise_, more so than he realized, not to mention the people who meant more to him than his own brother. Jim and Dr. McCoy… They had both been family, but he had not seen Jim in ninety-five years, nor McCoy in twenty-four. Ironically, though Vulcans had no need of tangible reminders, by standing here in _Enterprise's _shuttlebay, arguing with McCoy, Spock experienced all the benefits of such keepsakes. He felt younger, and more importantly, he felt belonging, purpose, and camaraderie.

As Spock prepared himself to respond to the doctor's inquiry, knowing full well he should not dwell on the irony, he was interrupted when Jim appeared, racing unexpectedly into the shuttlebay. "Spock!" The three companions, along with several other surprised engineers, turned to watch as the young captain sprinted over to the _Stalwart_. He stopped short, gasping for breath, red in the face, and visibly alarmed. "Something's come up… we need to talk… and get back to the bridge… not much time… Come with me…"

"What's going on, Jim?" McCoy demanded. He took a step forward, but Jim waved him back.

"There's not enough time. I'll explain later." Without stopping to truly catch his breath, Jim hustled Spock out of the shuttlebay, leaving behind Ambassador Sarek and Dr. McCoy, much to their perplexity. As soon as they were out of earshot, Jim started talking with the rapidity of a supercomputer. "I've just been informed Captain Broase abducted Spock and Bones down on that damn outpost. He wants McCoy back and he's threatening to kill a hostage unless we comply. We only have a few minutes before Uhura is scheduled to reopen the channel between our ships. I told Broase I need him to prove Spock and Bones are still alive, and in return, he wants an audience with McCoy. I can't let him talk to McCoy. If he's anything like the Bones I know, he'll do something utterly rash and selfless to try rescuing them, and this isn't the time. We need a way to even the odds, and for that, I need your help."

"I am at your disposal," Spock assured him, constraining and ultimately discarding whatever unpleasant emotions he might have suffered from such a disastrous turn of events. Commander Spock and Bones were in danger, but he could not afford to let fear overwhelm him. "I trust you have a plan?"

"No, not really. Didn't have time to make one, so I'm kind of improvising."

Improvising and running around the ship to get his adrenaline pumping. Everyone coped with emergencies differently. Vulcans functioned best through logic. Jim Kirk functioned best through exertion. They would find a way to get Commander Spock and Bones back. Somehow. And when they did, Captain Broase would learn the hard way not to mess with the _U.S.S. Enterprise_.

**ooooooo**

**A/N: **Sorry for rushing this last bit. I hope it sounds better to you than it does to me. Please send a review, and thanks for reading!


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